


How to Steal the Perfect Score

by beezyland



Category: The Perfect Score (2004)
Genre: A Retelling for Reasons, Bisexual Anna Ross, Cameos from Other Characters From Late 90s Early 2000s Teen Movies/TV Shows Because Why Not, Coming of Age, Early 2000s Period Piece, Explicit Language, F/M, High School, I Blame Tumblr, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 92,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: Six very different high school seniors come together with one common goal: steal the answers to the SAT.A retelling of the movie "The Perfect Score."
Relationships: Francesca Curtis/Kyle (The Perfect Score)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 52





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I saw The Perfect Score for the first time when I was 10 or 11 and thus, the unhealthy attachment was born! I both love and hate this movie and its untapped potential has haunted me for years. Writing this started out as a joke on Tumblr and then helped me get through 2020. Obviously it's meant to be fun and super indulgent and you bet my OG OTP ends up together (HOW WAS THAT NOT CANON??? IT WAS ALL RIGHT THERE!!!).
> 
> The entire story should be uploaded before/by Christmas so if you wanna wait and read it once it's complete, that's valid. 
> 
> Other characters and things from other movies and TV shows pop up here and there. I own nothing and make zero profit. 
> 
> Enjoy!

S.A.T. 

Suck-Ass Test.

Every year millions of kids take the Suck-Ass Test with the dream of getting into college. Suckers. All of ‘em. 

How warped is it to pay some unfeeling, money-hungry institution to be measured against other equally naive college hopefuls? Paying to be assigned a number that then dictates your future. Why does no one even question the logic or validity or relevance? Can a single number really encompass the kind of person you are, all of your strengths, not just your weaknesses? Does the College Board care? Fuck no! 

Every year millions of kids partake in the tradition of Sick Ass Torture, but for Roy, this is his third attempt in the last two years, but not for himself.

The test coordinator, a stern woman who isn’t about to put up with anyone’s shit, stops Roy at the door, demanding proof of identification. Lesser men might start to sweat, but not The Ghost. Roy hands over his School Board-issued identification with utmost confidence. He’s got this. Cool as a spicy Korean cucumber salad and _high as fuck_. 

Roy’s face crumbles as he clutches his grumbling stomach. Maybe he should have stopped by 7-Eleven for a breakfast burrito and Big Gulp before taking the bus here. 

“Bentley Scrumfeld?” the test coordination asks. 

“Yes,” Roy says in his best WASP impersonation. “My, uh, parents died when I was very young and I was adopted and raised by a very kind, but very white family.” Roy presses his hands together as if in prayer. “A tragedy, but I’m so very grateful.” 

The test coordination hums and looks down at her clipboard. “Are you sure you aren’t Cooper Harris or Shane Oman?”

“Uh, no.” Roy laughs and scratches the top of his head through his beanie with a moose on it. Zero recollection of how it came into his possession, but it’s his favorite. “Wow. And I thought _my_ name was super white.”

The test coordination stares at him like she can tell he’s a lying liar. She flips her clipboard around and shows Roy a photo of himself, the same photo as his School Board-issued identification. 

“A little advice, _Bentley_. If you’re going to try to cheat and take the SAT for other people, don’t use the exact same photo for all of your forged School Board identification forms.” 

“What?” Roy asks with fake outrage while internally freaking the fuck out. “That’s not me! Ma’am, are you implying that all Asians look the same?” 

The unamused, unconvinced test coordinator’s eyes go right over Roy’s shoulder. He follows her gaze to a uniformed security guard at the end of the hall and takes off running in the opposite direction. His getaway turns into more of an awkward gallop when his baggy jeans start to sag further down his ass and he has to reach behind him to hold them up while he runs for his life. 

If the security guard and doing nothing but smoking weed every day since he was twelve doesn’t kill him, the guy he was supposed to take the SAT for definitely will. 

***

“Isn’t that guy in our class?” 

Desmond Rhodes turns to Anna Ross, his tutor/friend/educational coach (a term he invented to annoy her). Even when college scouts started coming around the gym to see him play basketball and sportswriters started dropping his name in articles about the future of the NBA, Anna still demanded the honest best out of him. She’s the hardest working person he knows when it comes to academics, but right now, she’s more rattled than even the worst of them.

“Yo, A.” Desmond waves a hand in front of her face. “You alright?”

Leaning back against a wall of lockers, Anna blinks as if just coming back from an out-of-body experience and gives him a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine!”

He isn’t convinced and refuses to let it slide. It would be insulting to their friendship if he did.

“Anna, you should know by now that you can’t fool me with a piss poor game face like that. I can tell when you aren’t ‘fine, totally fine,’ which is most of the time.”

She drops her carefully crafted smile. “Is this supposed to be encouraging, Des?”

“My point is I know you and you don’t have to hide whatever’s going on in that brilliant head of yours.” He elbows her in the gentlest way. “So what’s up? We both know you’re gonna crush it.”

“Do we know that? Am I?” Anna combs her fingers through her thick, blonde curls. “There’s so much riding on this one test, and you know how my parents are...”

“Hey, Desmond Rhodes Superstar!” A random boy shouts across the hallway and holds out a hand, oblivious to the fact that he’s interrupting their conversation. Desmond reacts with an automatic smile and high-fives him.

As soon as the boy turns away, Desmond drops the “superstar smile.” Anna’s knowing expression must mirror the way he was looking at her and her painted-on smile a minute ago. Seeing beyond the cracks in someone’s mask runs the risk of them seeing through the cracks in yours. 

Desmond drags Anna into a hug and she goes boneless in his embrace. “You got this, Anna Ross. At least that’s what I gotta tell myself ‘cause if you don’t, hell, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

“Real inspirational speech there, coach,” Anna says sarcastically. But he sees the way she takes a deep, cleansing breath and makes an effort to relax. Mission semi-accomplished. “Alright. We’ve got this.”

“Hell yeah we do!”

Desmond and Anna fist bump even if they’re both quietly certain they’re screwed. 

A group of girls walk by, giggling in that way some girls do around the district’s star athlete. It’s equal parts flattering and embarrassing. Anna turns away like she always does when girls try to flirt with him, suddenly preoccupied with a broken heart carved into one of the lockers. Just as Desmond braces himself for mind-numbing small talk, a cell phone goes off.

“Who would be dumb enough to bring their cell phone in here?” Anna wonders aloud.

***

The test coordinator pops her head out of the testing room and all of the students in the hallway freeze in place. Matty Matthews (yeah, his father lost a bet so Matthew Matthews is printed on his actual birth certificate) scrambles to silence his phone ringer, which is a polyphonic version of Green Day’s “American Idiot.” How appropriate. 

His clumsy fingers manage to shut the sound off and shove his phone into his pocket just as the test coordinator walks by. “Who’s phone was that? Electronic devices other than approved calculators—that includes cellular phones—are not allowed in the testing site. If you’re caught with a cell phone or it goes off during the test, you’ll be asked to leave and your score will be canceled. This is your final warning!”

Once the test coordinator returns to her post, Matty lets out a huge sigh of relief. His best friend, Kyle Jameson, shoves him so hard that Matty falls face-first into a locker.

“Ow!” 

“Matty, you idiot! What if it went off during the test?” 

“You don’t understand, Kyle.” Matty sneaks a glance at the screen of his phone and from his frown, it isn’t what he’d hoped to see. “Sandy’s shopping for a Halloween costume with her sorority sisters today. What if she needs help deciding? What if she sends _pictures_?” 

Kyle knows that every attempt at an argument will fall on deaf ears. Matty has always had tunnel vision when it comes to his girlfriend while Kyle only has eyes for Cornell University. High school has always been a stepping stone, a box to check on his detailed, meticulously constructed plan to become an architect.

Once all of the students take their seats and all the test material has been distributed, Kyle tries his best to get settled in. A range of emotions circulates through the room from high anxiety to visible dread to resignation that whatever happens happens. 

_You can do this_ , Kyle tells himself. The piles of study guides and practice tests on nearly every flat surface of his bedroom can attest to the effort he put into preparing, but the SAT doesn’t give out points for effort. All that matters is if he fills in the right bubble. If not, too bad. 

The next three hours are a blur. Every time Kyle glances up at the clock, he squirms a little more in his seat. To his right, Anna Ross, one of the smartest girls in their class, stares off into space, her pencil left untouched atop a blank answer sheet. To his left, a redhead in fishnet stockings pops her bubble gum and colors her fingernails with Sharpie. Either she’s quick and confident or doesn’t care. Kyle finds himself wondering what they’re thinking. Whatever it is, it’s more important than the exam.

During their last break, while Matty wallows in disappointment that Sandy hasn’t called or even texted him, Kyle notices the redhead with blunt bangs sitting out in the hallway, still chewing gum, alone. 

“Are you that overconfident or do you just not care?” Kyle blurts out. 

She blinks up at him with surprise, a genuine, almost innocent expression that betrays the hardened exterior her dark makeup and multiple piercings would suggest. She holds his stare for a moment that lasts several heartbeats. He knows. He can feel his quickening in his chest. Behind them, the test coordinator calls everyone back to the room, but Kyle and the redhead continue to stare at each other with…mutual curiosity?

“C,” she answers. “None of the above.”

With that and the slightest quirk of her very red lips, she walks right by him, leaving Kyle to scratch the back of his neck. What the hell was that? Yet another question he doesn’t know the answer to. 

Matty jumps onto Kyle’s back with a laugh that says he saw everything. “Dude. Francesca Curtis is _so_ out of your league she’s in a different universe. You know it isn’t too late to apply to Maryland. I can introduce you to one of Sandy’s sorority sisters. That might be more your speed.”

Kyle rubs his hand down the front of his face. He has to focus. One more section and it’ll all be over. Just before he walks back into the testing room, Kyle sees Anna Ross at the end of the hallway, still with that blank expression on her face. The last time he glanced over, her answer sheet was still completely blank. Yikes.

Matty walks in ahead of him while Kyle waits at the door, watching a girl who’s always the first to raise her hand to answer questions in class stumble around as if in a trance. He offers her a weak smile that she doesn’t even notice. Pretty much the story of his life. 

“Stupid and traumatic,” Kyle whispers to himself. “S-A-T.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)
> 
> P.S. Fuck Mark Schwahn!


	2. Shock & (Drunk) Talk

1020\. 

Kyle needed a 1430 on the SAT and what did he get? A fucking 1020.

He drops his test results and immediately crawls into bed even though it’s the middle of the day. That’s all he can do to take shelter from a tidal wave of dread threatening to knock him off his feet. Maybe drowning would be a kinder fate than having to decide what to do next. 

In all honesty, Kyle knows he shouldn’t be too surprised with how distracted he was on the day of the test. All of the hours he chose to bubble-in practice tests instead of goofing off with Matty were all for nothing. His dad won tickets to a Yankees game and he turned down a trip to The Bronx to study. What a waste. 

What do I do?

_What do I do?_

Somewhere between tossing and turning and eventually getting out of bed to doodle and craft, Kyle decides to ask the school counselor. That’s what they pay him for, right? So the next day Kyle barrels down a hallway decked out in orange and black streamers and cheesy Halloween decorations, eager for guidance. 

“Mr. Dooling!” Kyle spots Davenport High School’s academic counselor at the end of the hallway. The balding middle-aged man puckers his lips around the rim of an Avengers mug, frowning at the graffiti just outside of the counselor’s office:

Mr. Dooling acts like he doesn’t hear Kyle shouting for him. Not cool. 

“Mr. Dooling! I know you saw me!”

“You know my policy, Mr. Jamison. Make an appointment. I’m a very busy person.”

A very busy person who’s been caught playing Spider Solitaire on his computer during work hours more than once. _Davenport ~~High~~ Lie School_, a web page that investigates school rumors, has photographic proof of it. As Matty pointed out to him, the web page is run by that redhead from the day they took the SAT. Francesca Curtis. 

“But, sir,” Kyle argues, “I just got my SAT results and I don’t know what to do next. Please, I’m not above begging and it won’t be pretty.”

He isn’t lying. This is what the education system has done to him.

Mr. Dooling gives in with a long-suffering sigh and motions Kyle into his office. A golden birdcage hangs on a stand near the window. A pair of small, blue birds affectionately nuzzle up against each other on a wooden perch. 

“ _Agapornis_ ,” Mr. Dooling says with gusto. “Lovebirds. The name comes from the species' strong, monogamous pair bond. They’re very social, live in small flocks, and can exhibit behavioral aggression towards other animals and bird species. Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?” 

Everyone has hobbies and Mr. Dooling is into birds apparently. No judgement. While some kids play sports or instruments, Kyle has always liked trying to physically build the things he’d dream up in his head. He moved from pencil and paper to popsicle sticks and glue guns to power tools much too fast for his poor mom’s liking. 

“You know, I could build you a birdhouse if you like,” Kyle offers. “It’s kind of my thing.” 

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Jamison, but I’m only interested in domestically bred birds. I don’t really care to be visited by any common, wild birds or have to clean up the mess they’d make.” 

Noted. 

Mr. Dooling’s demeanor nosedives once he looks over Kyle’s SAT results. “What are your fallback schools again?”

“I don’t have any,” Kyle replies. 

“Huh. That’s risky.” Mr. Dooling uses two fingers to type on his keyboard. It takes a while. “Hmm, your GPA is strong. PSAT score wasn’t great. 1020, huh. Well, don’t you think 1430 is a little…”

Unrealistic? Impossible? Completely out of his league.

“Mr. Dooling, when I was seven, I built a log cabin out of popsicle sticks.” Kyle remembers it so vividly, stacking sticks and gluing them together, daring himself to go bigger and bigger. To hell with the threat of structural collapse! “I’ve known what I wanted to do with my life since I was _seven_. I did my research and Cornell turns out some of the greatest architects of our time so that’s where I want to go.”

It’s only mildly disappointing and incredibly frustrating when his passion is met with yet another weary sigh. Mr. Dooling has the face and attitude of a man who’s been beaten down by the world and thinks he’s doing his students a favor by suggesting what he does next.

“Have you considered community college?”

***

“So Dooling says you’re fucked?” 

Kyle knocks his forehead into the cool, hard surface of a random locker. He’s had a headache since he opened that cursed envelope from the School Board and can’t seem to shake it. “Dooling says standardized testing says I’m fucked.” 

“Same difference.” 

Matty takes a sip of Red Bull, his second love, and places the can on the top shelf in his locker. The inside is plastered with pictures of him and his girlfriend, Sandy, in the same way middle school girls cover their bedroom walls with posters of boy bands. After being inseparable for the three years they were together, everyone wondered how Matty would handle the school year without Sandy to keep him on track and provide sexy incentive if he did well on exams. Senior year has just started, but he’s taking long distance in strides. At least, Matty says he is. 

“1020?” Matty laughs because he’s a jackass. “That’s almost as bad as me. What did you tell your parents?”

“Haven’t told them.” 

More like Kyle made sure to beat his parents to the mailbox every single day since taking the test to make sure he’s the first to see his results and for good reason. 

“I did worse than the first time I took it so it was a massive waste of my time and my gas money.” Matty reveals an envelope with the University of Maryland’s logo on the corner. “Gotta love early action.”

“What are you waiting for? Open it!” 

Matty slides his finger beneath the flap of the envelope, but then loses his nerve. “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow. What if I didn’t get in and it ruins my Halloween?”

“The SAT already ruined my Halloween so I say the more miserable the merrier.” 

“Maybe this is a sign from the fun gods that you should quit stressing about the future _for once_ and get laid at Dave’s party tonight.” 

“Maybe you should quit stalling and open it before I do it for you,” Kyle retorts. 

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec.” Matty takes a deep breath, opens the envelope and reads the letter inside. His face drops. “SAT score insufficient?!”

Kyle wonders if he looked as pathetic or more when he saw his SAT score. He snatches the letter from Matty’s trembling hands and scans over the obviously copy and pasted script. “It’s not all bad. Good thing you applied early. They’re willing to work with you. They just need more information and you need to get a higher SAT score on the next retest.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Matty says with venomous sarcasm. “Why don’t they just ask for an arm and a kidney? At least that’s doable.”

“Still feel like getting dressed up and going to a stupid party?” Kyle asks.

“Hell yeah,” Matty replies. “If I can’t spend Halloween with my girl, alcohol is the next best thing.” 

***

“Take a picture of me so I can send it to Sandy?”

Matty’s Halloween costume consists of blue scrubs and a stethoscope hung around his neck. Apparently he’s supposed to be Sandy’s favorite character from her favorite medical drama. Kyle dressed up in classic Yankee pinstripes with bloodstained gauze wrapped around his head and his face painted like a skeleton.

“Did you tell Sandy about the letter yet?” Kyle snaps a photo of Matty flexing behind the wheel of his truck and tosses the phone back to him. 

“Nope. What she doesn’t know, she can’t dump me for. I should probably call her before she goes out for the night...” Matty cuts Kyle an expectantly look. “Do you mind?”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Kyle grabs his splintered baseball bat also covered in fake blood and hops out of the truck. It isn’t even eight o’clock yet and his schoolmates are everywhere and dressed in a variety of costumes. Davy Jones and Spider-Man are playing puff-puff-pass on the front porch. Kyle barely gets out of SpongBob SquarePants’ way before they barf on an Impala parked in the driveway. 

It’s even more crowded and out-of-control inside. The DJ setup has the walls trembling. A mix of cigarette smoke and marijuana wafts through the air. All of the most popular girls in school are basically wearing lingerie and some kind of animal ears, drinking wine coolers, giggling and batting rhinestone-encrusted fake lashes. 

Doing his best to try to forget about the SAT and Cornell and everything just for a few hours, Kyle grabs a beer from a group of Marvel superheroes manning the kegs. He works up a nice buzz and endures heckling from the baseball team, all of whom are diehard Mets fans.

Kyle spots that same redhead from the day of the SAT. Francesca Curtis. He’d think she’s dressed up as Avril Lavigne if he didn’t figure she dresses this way all the time. While he has a hunch she totally listens to Avril, pointing this out will probably earn him a drink to the face. She already seems to be in a bad mood, trying to dodge an underclassman dressed as a sexy bumblebee. 

“You can’t just put that crap about me on the internet!” 

“What?” Francesca feigns innocence though she isn’t intimidated in the least. “Oh. You mean the truth with photographic evidence to support it?”

“Ugh! Do you know who my father is? I could like, totally sue you for defamation or something!” 

“To be defamatory, a statement must be presented as true but, in fact, be untrue. Everything on my page is verifiable so we have nothing to talk about and I leave out last names anyway so you’re welcome.” 

“Shit,” Kyle whispers under his breath. “She’s Lois Lane.” 

“I can pay you,” the dark-haired girl says, sounding desperate. “My family has money.”

“I don’t want your family’s money.” Francesca tries to make her escape and sees Kyle blocking her exit. She eyes him up and down. “Who are you supposed to be? Jack Skellington?”

Kyle blinks. He’s an undead bludgeoned batboy. What version of _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ has she seen?

Francesca doesn’t wait for an answer and steps around him. Kyle watches her push her way through the crowd and disappear, wondering if he should have said something. What do you say to a girl who’s caught you staring at her on two separate occasions like some kind of creep? 

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Bumblebee Girl asks, clearly judging him. “That bitch will step all over you in her croc pattern Doc Martens and write about it on her stupid web page.” 

Bumblebee Girl stomps away in a huff. Well, that was weird. Kyle takes another long pull of beer and wades through knee-high, funky-smelling artificial fog. Kyle chokes on his beer when he sees a face he never wants to run into in public. 

Larry. His older brother. 

Larry who’s dressed as Elvis, wearing a tight, glitzy white jumpsuit, wig and sunglasses. Four years removed from high school, Larry has no business being at this party yet here he is, hollering and high-fiving strangers around him. It’s kind of ironic that Larry would dress up as the so-called “King of Rock N’ Roll” when he had dreams of being a rock star once upon a time. He even spent the summer after high school touring with his band, but now he’s unemployed, lives in the apartment above their parents’ garage and frequents high school Halloween parties apparently. 

“Oh, my god! Wasn’t that guy on The Real World: New Jersey?” a girl squeals. 

And Larry was on The Real World: New Jersey. 

“What are you doing here, Larry?” Kyle has to shout to be heard over the party noise. 

“Ayyy, baby brother!” Larry drags Kyle close enough to kiss the top of his head. He’s always been overly affectionate with the goal of being annoying. He gets that from their mom. “Grab me a beer, will ya?”

“Yeah, no. You shouldn’t even be here!”

“Lighten up, Kyle!” Larry does a sloppy impersonation of Elvis with over-exaggerated hip thrusts and nearly falls over. “I’m shocked you’re at an actual party! Shocked!” Larry slaps him on the back. Ouch. “Good for you, kid! You don’t wanna look back and realize you wasted your best years stresses out and being a lame, goody two-shoes!” 

Larry wiggles his eyebrows at a group of girls who are totally in Kyle’s homeroom and clearly underaged. Kyle grabs his brother by the back of his sparkly collar and drags him away. “No. No way. You need to leave _now_.”

Kyle feels bad thinking of his brother as a cautionary tale, but part of the reason he works so hard is so he doesn’t end up like him. Not that he’d ever say that to Larry’s face. 

“Chill out, Kyle!” Larry shouts. “This is a party! Why can’t you be more like Matty?” 

Sure enough, Matty has commanded the turntables with a big smile on his face that can only mean he drank something too strong too fast. He tries to scratch on the records and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Unaware he’s killing the vibe and evidently feeling himself, Matty cups a hand around his ear, wanting to hear the audience get into it, but receives a chorus of boos instead. 

“Kyle!” Matty shout-slurs. “I threw my phone across the street! My phone! Across the street!” Matty laughs and it sounds so frantic when usually he’s too lazy and too honest when he’s drunk. 

“People are going to start throwing things at you!” Kyle rips the headphones from around Matty’s neck and hands them back to the DJ. “Sorry about him. We’re just gonna…” Kyle shoves Matty away from the turntables and that gets a round of applause from the room. 

“Tough crowd,” Matty grumbles. 

They make their way out of the house and into the cool autumn night.

“I called Sandy and some guy answered her phone,” Matty explains. “It was a guy—no, a man! He had a man's voice and he said ‘Sandy’s phone.’ He didn’t say ‘Pam’s phone’ or ‘Pam and Sandy’s phone.’ _Just_ Sandy…” 

Ouch. And the downside of long distance relationships rears its ugly head.

“Matty, calm down. Maybe you—”

“No! I know what I heard, man! Some buff frat boy is moving in on my girl! And I’m not even there to beat the crap outta him! Or get the crap beat outta me then Sandy would have’ta play nurse...” Matty leans against the side of his truck, heartbroken. “I’m insufficient. This guy knows it, Sandy knows it, Maryland knows it, the fuckin’ SAT knows it…” 

“Okay, you’re not driving anywhere anytime soon. Gimme your keys.”

“I’m serious, Kyle!”

“Matty, you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not a dumb guy, right?” Matty continues to ramble and spiral further out of control, out of reach. “What more does Maryland want from me? Why can’t they ask me something that matters! The, uh, best pitching staff in baseball. Ask me how to rebuild a carburetor on a ‘71 Buick. Ask me what icing's for! Where’s that on the stupid test? I’m talkin’ ‘bout real life stuff!” 

“The College Board makes millions of dollars a year,” Kyle points out. “You think they care about our real lives?”

“It’s not fair. They’re not playing fair!” Matty sinks down to the ground. If not for his truck behind him, he’d probably be flat on the ground by now. “If they don’t play fair, why should we? If we could get our hands on the test… Isn’t the test place here in town?” 

“What are you saying?” Kyle chuckles. “You want to steal the answers to the SAT?” 

“Noooo. Not _steal_. Just...borrow? I _need_ to go to Maryland. I need to up my score or else… I’m gonna lose her, man…” Matty frowns in the sobering silence. “You have talent, Kyle. With your drawings and your designs. I could never do that. You deserve to go to a school where you can put your talent to use! And what’s standing in the way is a test you’re never gonna pass no matter how many study guides you do and classes you take. So what’s the solution?”

“A lot of kids struggle with the SAT. That doesn’t justify thievery.”

“No? If I don’t get into Maryland, my life is literal shit.” 

“Come on.” Kyle offers him a hand. “I’ll drive your truck. I’m sure once you get some sleep you won’t even remember this.” 

“But you will be thinkin’ ‘bout my idea all night and that’s a win for me.” 

***

After sneaking Matty into his house and dumping his dead weight onto the basement couch, Kyle spends the short walk home thinking, contemplating and debating. 

He’s always been prone to overthinking, something Kyle knows can be a negative turned into a positive. There’s no validity to the mad ramblings of the drunk and heartbroken, right? There can’t be. Steal the answers to the SAT? Matty’s just talking out of his ass. He shouldn’t even entertain the thought. It’s ridiculous. It’s wrong. 

It’s just after eleven o’clock at night and all of the trick-or-treaters are home counting and sorting their sugary loot. Kyle passes a doorstep with a bowl left outside and a sign asking for every trick-or-treater to only take one. Predictably, the bowl is empty. _How many kids followed the rule?_ Kyle wonders. _How many kids broke the rule and got away with handfuls of candy?_

The lights are still on in his house when he gets home. His parents go on and on about how they trust him to be safe and smart, but he knows his mom likes to wait up for him to reassure her own nerves. Kyle finds his mom grading papers in the dining room and creeps closer, ready to deliver the most epic scare of her life. Before he can shout, “Boo!” Donna Jamison beats him to it with a firm, “Kyle Halpert Jamison, don’t you dare.”

Kyle slumps over in defeat. “How did you know without even looking up?” 

“I’ve been a mother for over twenty years and a teacher for even longer. I always know.” Donna smiles at him like she believes with her whole heart that he can do no wrong. “How was the party?”

“Fine. Up until Larry showed up.”

“Aw, honey, you know your brother’s still trying to figure a few things out…” 

He’s been “trying to figure a few things out” for a few years now. Not that he would say that to Larry or his parents. Not that it would change anything. 

“Why are you grading homework on a Friday night?” Kyle asks. 

“Your father got stuck watching a horror movie marathon and you know how I feel about those movies.” Donna wrinkles her nose. “We have a busy weekend so I figured I’d get a head start on some grading.” Donna smooths a star sticker over the top of a worksheet. “We just started teaching the kids to bubble-in.”

That strikes Kyle particularly hard. “First graders?”

“Mhmm.”

“Mom, most of these kids can’t even read yet.”

Donna visibly deflates. He’s heard her rants about the quality of public education (specifically sex education), underfunded school programs and how she has to bring in her own school supplies because it just isn’t in the school’s budget to provide. His mom has always been a fierce beacon of morality and a guiding light in his life so it hurts to see her so defeated.

“I hate to say it,” Donna sighs, “but there’s more money for the school in bubbling-in these days…” 

Though she doesn’t realize it, her words flip a switch in her son’s head. It’s money-driven and starts long before high school. Test scores go up and the schools get more cash. Web Page Girl wrote an exposé entitled, _“Teachers Bonus or Teachers Bone Us?”_ and it seems she wasn’t too off-base. 

If the system is fucked and exists to profit off of them then who does it really hurt to cheat the system in return? Why would the College Board even care as long as they collect their test fees either way?

_“They were cheating, coach.”_

Kyle remembers the way his Little League coach sighed, much like Mr. Dooling and his mother. _“Kid, if you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Chris Evans says "thievery" in this dumb movie, you know? You know.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	3. Surveillance & Theater

Fuck Halloween. 

Matty wakes up the morning after still wearing hospital scrubs, half of his body hanging off the couch in his parents’ basement. Something’s poking him hard in the side. Matty reaches beneath himself and fishes out the stethoscope that was apart of his costume. He tosses it away and tries to make himself more comfortable, which feels impossible at this point.

Then it hits him. The detailed of that cursed night. The cell phone he threw…somewhere.

“Shit,” Matty groans.

Fuck Halloween _for real_. 

Part of him doesn’t even want to find his cell phone. He doesn’t want to know if the dude who answered Sandy’s phone told her he called. He doesn’t need to know if she did call and now she’s pissed that he didn’t answer on the first ring. Even worse, what if he finds his phone and she hasn’t called or messaged him at all? What if she hasn’t thought about him at all?

He’s probably overreacting, right? So what if a dude answered his girlfriend’s phone. She’s allowed to have dude friends just like he’s allowed to have friends who just so happen to be girls. Not that he has friends who just so happen to be girls. Not that he has many friends outside of Kyle and Dave. But that’s what college is for. He’s going to make tons of new friends at Maryland next year and can’t hold it against Sandy for doing just that in her first year. 

Maybe it was just a friend or her roommate’s boyfriend. Yeah. Maybe he was waiting for the girls to get ready to go out for Halloween, heard her phone ring, happened to be nearby and answered it. Yeah. That has to be it.

“Matty!” His mother, Linda Matthews, calls out in her distinct South Jersey accent. “You better be up and dressed! You’re supposed to help your father today! I hope you didn’t forget!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He totally forgot. 

Matty scrambles off the couch and falls on his face when his legs get tangled up in one of his mom’s knitted quilts. He’s still wearing his sneakers from the night before. He slept in his sneakers. Kyle didn’t even bother taking his sneakers off for him when he dumped him on the couch and bailed last night? Fuck you too, Kyle!

Despite his throbbing head and too sensitive eyes, Matty forces himself to do jumping jacks to work up a sweat. The second he hears footsteps at the top of the stairs, he leaps back onto the couch and pulls the quilt back over his body. 

“Mathew!” His mother shouts. “Did you not hear me or are you ignoring your mother?”

“Mom…” Matty squints his eyes and shifting around on the couch. “Mom, I think I’m sick...”

“You think? You _think_ you’re sick?”

“Mom…” Matty whimpers and presses his face against the tweed couch cushions. Her house slippers clip-clop against the cement floor and he leans into her touch when she presses the back of her hand to his sweaty forehead. 

“Matthew, gross! You’re all sweaty!” His mom yanks her hand back. “I didn’t even hear you get in last night. Did you stay up all night eating too much candy at Kyle’s house?”

Matty moans and curls around an embroidered pillow. “Ma, I can’t even think about candy right now or I’m gonna hurl.” 

“And you’d deserve it.” Her house slippers clip-clop again. The refrigerator door squeaks open and Matty nearly falls off the couch a second time when he feels a shock of cold against the side of his face.

“Mom!”

“Hydrate,” she says sternly. “Get some rest. I’ll tell your father you're ill. Just know he isn’t gonna be happy about it.”

“I’ve told him a million times that I’m not going to work for him after graduation,” Matty whines, but he does it with utmost belief in his words. “I’m going to be in Maryland with Sandy.”

He’s been clear about this ever since Sandy got accepted to Maryland a year ago and it makes him want to scream every time his parents brush off his plan for the future. Sure, his steps to getting there aren’t as defined as they might like, but he isn’t like Kyle who has a compulsion that makes him plan out every minute of his life down to the little detail. At least Matty knows what he wants. It’s never enough for them.

“Yeah? And have you decided on what you’ll study?”

Nope. That’s about the last thing on his mind.

Matty reasons that he has to find a way to get there before he can even consider what he’s going to do there other than be the best boyfriend he can be and fight for his girl if necessary. Matty puts that thought off, puts off thinking in general, drinks the entire bottle of water in one go and tries to get some much needed sleep. 

***

“You so owe me, dude.” 

Like an angel sent from above if angels smelled like Cheetos and sadness, Dave gives Matty his once lost now found cell phone on Monday at school. He could kiss the stupid thing, he could kiss Dave, too happy for rational thought when he flips his phone open and the screen actually lights up. The battery’s on the brink of death, but it still works. Score! 

“Dave, I could kiss you,” Matty says. 

“Yeah, keep it.” 

Whatever else Dave says gets lost once Matty notices a number of missed calls and text messages from Sandy from over the weekend. It can only mean she cares, right?

_She cares._

He’s so happy he could break out into song and dance, but settles for sprinting down the school hallway to get to the parking lot so he can call her. In his haste, Matty runs straight through a paper banner a girl with orange hair and Anna Ross, the class brain, had been poised to hang. The banner tears in two and Matty ends up falling on his face in the school hallway. Ouch.

“Uh! Are you kidding me! We spent all of homeroom making that!”

Matty stares at the paper banner advertising _A Midsummer’s Rockin’ Eve_ or it used to. It’s really just some block letters in paint and a crude drawing of fairies. Honestly, he’s seen Kyle doodle better in the margins of his notebooks in class.

“Shit, my bad,” Matty says. “You probably could’ve done better anyway. Just think of this one as like, a first draft?”

“Miss Baggoli!” the orange-haired girl screams at the top of her lungs. 

And that’s how Matty ends up on his hands and knees hunched over a new roll of pink paper at lunch. And because he’s the best friend a dumbass could ever ask for, Kyle hunches over the other end of the banner, sketching out a sexy yet modest off-brand Tinker Bell. That’s just the kind of the artistic overachiever he is. 

“Matty, you’re an idiot.”

“I was in a hurry! Sandy called me back and she probably thinks I’ve been ignoring her all weekend. Would you mind covering for me if I just—?” Matty starts to stand, but Kyle yanks him back down by the long sleeve of his shirt. “Okay, you’re right. I should probably script out what I’m going to say to her.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Matty swipes his hand through glitter and flicks it at Kyle.

“Real mature, Matty.”

“Wait until you finally get a girlfriend and you’ll know my pain.” Matty goes back to painting the letters Kyle sketched out in pencil. “I’m guessing you didn’t dump me on the basement couch so you could get back to Ramona Flowers.”

“Nope, too busy saving your ass. Plus, I need to focus on getting into Cornell. I’ll have time to date after.”

“Not if the architecture program is as hardcore as you make it sound.” Matty sees the way Kyle smiles at the mention of his future plan and feels a pang of jealousy. Kyle has always had that. He’s always been good at designing and building and planning. Matty has no such skill. “Come on, Kyle, the girls at this school would line up to date you if you gave any of them the time of day. Going to college a virgin would be so lame.”

Kyle’s often susceptible to peer pressure, but chooses avoidance. “So, are you thinking about auditioning?”

Matty scoffs. “For the musical? Are you shitting me?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve done every musical since freshman year,” a female voice says from behind them.

Anna Ross greets them with a friendly smile with her hands tucked shyly behind her back. She’s involved in most of the extra curricular activities the school has to offer and the Drama Club is no exception. Anna has been the stage manager for every play and musical since the last one graduated and passed the rhinestone-encrusted baton to her. She’s probably here to make sure they aren’t goofing off and their precious banner gets done.

“To be honest…” Anna glances around the hallway to make sure they’re alone. “We could really use you if you’re interested, Matty. I already know Striker is going to be unbearable no matter what part he lands.” 

“And that’s supposed to make me want to audition?” Matty shakes his head, sprinkling glitter onto the wet paint and wiping his glittery hand off down the back of Kyle’s sweater. “I only did all that for Sandy. No Sandy, no thanks.” 

“Are you sure?” Kyle asks, brushing bits of eraser off the banner. “You should audition if you want to. I mean, you always looked like you were having fun.” 

“I don’t know,” Matty says. “I’m already behind with schoolwork and my part-time job…”

“I tutor after school,” Anna says. “I could help you if you’d like.”

What’s with this chick? Why is she so insistent?

 _Does she have a crush on me or something_? Matty wonders in his head. Every time he insisted a waitress or someone was flirting with him or checking him out, Sandy would laugh like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, just so secure in their relationship like that.

“Promise me you’ll think about it at least?” Anna asks. Damn, she’s hard to say no to. 

And because Matty’s nice, he agrees to think about it at the very least even if he doesn’t actually plan to audition. Not in a million years. Anna thanks the both of them for their hard work before excusing herself, saying she has to get to a meeting for another one of the dozens of clubs she’s in. Talk about overkill. How does she not feel like screaming her lungs out all the time?

Kyle stares after Anna Ross like maybe he wanted to say something while she was talking to them and regrets not having the courage to. Matty always told him that his inexperience with girls would bite him in the ass when he finally met one he actually wanted to talk to. 

“More your type, but also _way_ out of your league,” Matty teases. 

Kyle purposefully ignores him, which makes it even funnier. “So, I, uh, I found out where to go if we’re going to _borrow_ the thing.” 

“What thing?” 

“The SAT,” Kyle whispers. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Friday night at the party you suggested we should y’know…” Kyle lowers his voice even further. “Borrow the SAT. I looked into it and—”

“Kyle, I was drunk!” Matty glances from left to right, but they’re thankfully alone. “My dream college rejected me, I thought my girl might have found somebody else so, yeah, I was plastered and talking outta my ass. Do you know how ridiculous that is? Do you know how ridiculous you are for even looking into it?”

“Listen to me. There’s this place called ETS. Electronic Testing Services. They’re located right outside of town. They’re responsible for manufacturing and distributing the test to the whole county so they have to have the answer key.” 

“And what’s the plan, Kyle? We go to this place, walk right in and say ‘ _hey, we’d like to borrow the answers to the SAT. Yes, thank you, fine sir. Yes, I intend to tip well.’_ ” Matty mimes flicking a coin off of his thumb and forefinger.

Kyle stares at him. “What the hell was that voice just now?”

“A stupid idea deserves to be mocked in a stupid voice!”

“Look, I don’t have it all planned out just yet—”

“No, really? I never would have guessed.” 

“What’s the alternative, Matty? Take the test again next month and again in December? One more time in January? Fifth time must be the charm. I studied my ass off all summer. I suck at standardized tests. What’s another few months going to change? I’m willing to try anything at this point if it means going to Cornell next fall. What about you?” 

Kyle has always felt guilty over the smallest sins so suggesting what he’s suggesting can only mean he’s beyond desperate and he wants this as bad as Matty wants to be with Sandy. Matty anxiously taps his fingers against his knees and stares down at the banner. It isn’t finished, but it’s shaping up to be much better than the original he accidentally ran into. Whenever they put their heads together it usually works out for the best. 

“My dad tried to take me on a ride-along this weekend,” Matty says. “Did I ever tell you he named the family business Matthews and Son _s_ Septic as in sons plural? He just assumed I’d settle for the same life as him, same as my brother, cleaning up other people’s shit. A job's a job, sure, but I’d rather fucking die.”

“You won’t,” Kyle says. He’s always been naive like that. “It’s like you said that night…”

Matty chuckles. “You need to stop quoting my drunk ass and pinning this all on me!”

Ignoring him, Kyle continues, “You said one little test is standing in the way of the lives we want. Even if we manage to borrow the answers, the College Board still cashes in their check. They don't care. They won't even notice. We worked just as hard as the kids who are better at test-taking.”

“Probably harder since we’re risking incarceration,” Matty adds. “This is insane.”

“Let’s just check out the place and try to come up with a plan.” 

“You're lucky I'm desperate.” Matty blows the excess glitter off the banner and watches it scatter across the dirty floor.

***

The ETS headquarters is a sprawling, all-glass skyscraper surrounded by dense forest. There’s no guard shack at the entrance to the large wrap-around parking lot, but there is a golf cart probably reserved for security parked right out front.

Matty and Kyle walk right into the bustling lobby without a problem. According to the sign by the elevator, ETS isn’t the only business that calls the building home, but it does take up the entire top floor. Two security guards are posted just in front of the elevators with a bank of security monitors just behind the reception desk. That could be a problem. 

“Security’s tight,” Kyle whispers. 

“No shit.” Matty scratches at the collar of his sweater, feeling a stress rash coming on. 

“Can I help you two?” A portly security guard marches up behind them. 

“I, um, we—” Kyle stutters. 

“We’re here to pick up our mom,” Matty lies easily, smoothly. “She had an appointment with the divorce lawyer and she’s, uh, always a little upset after and doesn’t want to be driving alone.”

The security guard’s naturally stern face softens. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you aren’t going up, please have a seat here in the waiting area. Can’t have you standing around and blocking the walkway in case of an emergency.” 

“Oh! Sure, officer,” Kyle says nervously. “We’ll just...sit.” 

Matty can’t help, but rib his best friend once the security guard returns to his post. “ _Sure_ , _officer_. Ha! What’s that about? You know he isn’t a real cop, right? You don’t go to the police academy to sit in a lobby all day.” 

“Nice going back there.” 

“I’m a natural-born liar.” 

That’s one thing he’s good at. Not that he can or should make a career of it.

“If security was questioning us just for breathing down here, I’m sure there’s more right when you get off the elevator on the ETS floor.” Kyle’s calculating eyes take in every detail of the lobby. “Maybe we should go up, say we got off on the wrong floor, just to…”

Kyle’s voice trails off. Matty follows his gaze and finds a short pleated skirt and fishnet stockings, bottle red hair and dark makeup. Not Matty’s type _at all_. Not Kyle’s type either, but the way she makes him loses his train of thought suggests otherwise. That tends to happen with the kind of girl that will chew you up, spit out your bones and use them in some weird witchy ritual probably. There’s no other way to describe Francesca Curtis.

“Hey, it’s the girl you were flirting with at the SAT,” Matty teases. “Could you have picked a worse time to try to score with a chick?”

“I was not.”

But he was interested. Still is. Kyle has always been too easy to read, too earnest for his own good.

“What do you think she’s doing here?” Matty asks.

They watch as Francesca breezes right by the security guards like she’s done it a million times before. By their lack of reaction, she probably has. 

Matty smirks. “I think we found our in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A Midsummer’s Rockin’ Eve" is from Get Over It (2001), an absolute gem of a teen movie.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	4. Sharp & Tempting

Francesca Curtis finds life in suburban New Jersey an absolute bore. 

It’s the same bullshit every day. She wakes up. If her luck is total shit, she’ll run into one of the barely legal women who’s fucking her father mid-walk of shame. She goes to school. If she’s lucky, something mildly entertaining happens. She does her homework and works on her web page, blasts music to drown out the sounds of her father “entertaining” a new barely legal gold-digging hopeful. Sleep. Repeat. 

It’s all so tedious and mind-numbing. 

Running her web page makes life a little more interesting, a little more bearable. Francesca can sense bullshit a mile away (her father has given her a lot of practice) and instinctively digs and digs until the truth rises to the surface. Keeping it to herself would be selfish, wouldn’t it? Though uncovering the school board’s corrupt ways are the most satisfying, exposing the gross sexual happenings in the projection room has been some of her finest work. 

_People deserve to know the truth,_ Francesca tells herself.

(But if she’s honest, revealing the dark imperfections of people who only care about being pretty and perfect brings her more satisfaction than is psychologically healthy.)

Just as she steps out of her bedroom so does a young woman who can’t be more than a handful of years older than her. They both stare at each other in the excruciatingly awkward silence. Francesca hopes it’s excruciatingly awkward for this woman and her father. The moment she thinks it, the bedroom door shuts behind the woman. Choosing to abandon ship rather than face his own daughter, it’s one of her father’s signature moves. 

“Hi, I’m—”

“Don’t care.” Francesca descends the grand staircase ahead of her. “Not like we’ll be seeing each other ever again.” 

Her father is a slut who bores easy. Fact-checked. Verified.

He’s a rich slut so most people fall to their knees to kiss his dirty whore feet. 

Out of their family of three, Francesca likes to think she handled the divorce with the most maturity because she had to, because the so-called adults in the situation were childish and spiteful. Whoever got to keep the house got custody of Francesca. That isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Parents are supposed to want to fight for their children. Francesca hasn’t felt like a child in a long time. 

School is another level of hell entirely.

Francesca would avoid her locker entirely if she didn’t have to check for new anonymous tips. Just as expected from her clockwork life, Dave fidgets in front of her locker. The urge to bail intensifies. Anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, Dave smiles on a deep inhale when he sees her and seems to forget to breathe entirely as she works her locker open. 

“Heyyy, Francesca.”

“Hey,” she says coolly. 

And hopes to leave it at that, but as previously established, her luck is shit. Francesca yanks her locker open and finds a few folded slips of paper, one stuck in the slot in the locker door. Jackpot. 

“Um, I was wondering if you got my email about seeing a movie sometime?” 

“I did and I replied.” 

To which, he responded with a follow-up email of his own entitled “ouch.” After that, she made sure to check she had pepper spray on her key ring before leaving the house. 

“Yeah,” Dave laughs nervously, “but I think you might have gotten the wrong idea. I wasn’t asking you out on a date or anything. I mean, I usually go for girls who are more—”

Francesca slams her locker shut. “Is there a point to this?” 

“I thought we could go to the movies as friends,” Dave blurts out. “And see where things go…” 

Not a date, huh? Does he think she’s stupid, incapable of reading between the lines? Does he think she’ll change her mind, slowly succumb to his charm? Unlikely.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Francesca says as gently as possible. She knows how men can be, quick to anger, quick to react violently and as uncompromising and harsh as she can be, she also refuses to become a statistic. “We’re graduating soon and I’m not planning on hanging around so…”

“Yeah, I know, but…”

“I gotta go. See you around.”

Francesca unfolds the slips of paper as she makes the trek to homeroom. One simply says “ _fuck u bitch_.” Another has a crude drawing of an enormous dick with hairy balls on it. Whoever drew it must be compensating with how much detail they put into it. The third pertains to the presence of prescription narcotics on campus. Nothing she doesn’t already know. On the corner of the paper is a: 

She’s gotten a number of surprisingly useful tips signed with this symbol that’s also been popping up as graffiti on walls, dumpsters and desks around the school. The absence of it in the girls’ bathrooms and locker room suggests her tipster doesn’t have access to those spaces and is therefore, a dude. 

The rest of the day plays out like any other. Francesca chooses to sit directly behind Anna Ross in most of the classes they share. Every time the teachers ask a question and even when they don’t, Anna raises her hand to answer or bring up a point that drives the discussion. The teachers react with such delight it’s nauseating, but the perfect smokescreen. Francesca goes unnoticed, using the teacher’s pet as a human shield, and that’s how she prefers it. 

Her day goes completely off the rails when she’s in the library working on her laptop after school. It beats going home. Francesca managed to go the entire day without interacting with anyone other than Dave and that hadn’t been by choice. She usually considers it a win. The less having to put up with other people’s bullshit the better.

That’s when two boys decide to sit across from her at her favorite table and proceed to alter her life in ways she never could have anticipated.

Kyle Jamison and Matty Matthews. 

First of all, what the hell were his parents thinking when naming the latter? Second, they’ve been in the same graduating class since the third grade, but have barely even spoken. Not surprising when there are two hundred eighty-one kids in their grade and she’s hardly had classes with either of them. What could they possibly have to say to her? And why do they seem so nervous about it? If it’s about something stupid like a threesome, she’s definitely breaking in her pepper spray today. 

Francesca doesn’t even look up from her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as she tweaks code here and there, more for cosmetic purposes than actual content. “Do you guys know the name of that kid with the Percocet addiction?”

Kyle and Matty exchange confused looks. 

“No?” Francesca asks. “No?” She presses. “No?” 

The librarian shushes them from her desk. By the apologetic look on the boys’ faces, they can’t decipher a bluff when it gives them a glare from above a pair of thick reading glasses and emphatically points at a “NO TALKING!” sign. They clearly don’t spend a lot of time in here.

When they still don’t have an answer for her or anything useful or even coherent to say, Francesca grows tired of whatever they think this is. “Okay. Um, if you have something for my page, you have to write it down and slip it in my locker and I’ll get back to you.”

“No, um—”

Francesca laughs. “If you don’t know where my locker is, you're in way over your head.”

“Actually, we were just wondering why you were at that building the other day?” Matty has always struck her as more of the sidekick type. If not Kyle’s then that blonde cheerleader he’d follow around like a zombie trailing after a peppy sack of meat. “Yesterday. After school, I mean.” 

Her fingers go still against the keyboard. She looks at Kyle from over the screen of her laptop even though he’s yet to say anything. “Have you been stalking me?”

“What?!” Kyle shouts. And gets shushed again, but this time no one pays the librarian any attention. Not that it should surprise her. 

“Ah, so he does speak,” Francesca says. “I thought you kept barging into my life—”

“Barging into your life???”

“—because of some weird white knight complex or misguided sense of benevolent sexism—”

“Sexism?!”

“—but if you’re a stalker, I should warn you I have pepper spray and I’ve practiced using it.”

“Miss Curtis!” The librarian shouts from across the room. Now who’s being too loud in a designated quiet zone? Seems a little hypocritical. “I’m going to have to ask you and your friends to take your conversation elsewhere!”

Francesca inwardly cringes at that word. _Friends_. 

What even are friends anyway? A group of people you sit with so you can maintain the lie that life might suck, but it’d suck more if you didn’t surround yourself at all times even if you can’t trust these so-called “friends” with the deepest, truest parts of yourself, afraid of ridicule and/or rejection. Francesca tried that and it sucked. Being alone is a far easier pill to swallow than hiding the truest parts of yourself in order to be liked. 

The librarian walks right up to their table, trying to regulate her breathing as she waits for Francesca to pack up her things. She even walks the three of them to the door. Lame. Losing her favorite spot on campus over two noisy boys she doesn’t even know would suck.

“Curtis,” Kyle says. “Curtis Properties. Your family owns the building.”

“My family owns a lot of buildings.” Francesca runs through a mental list of what could possibly be of interest to these two and then it hits her. “Oh shit. You’re talking about ETS specifically, right?”

It isn’t a question, but Matty nods. Kyle looks around with heightened anxiety.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Kyle asks. 

Francesca doesn’t see how the bleachers of a packed basketball game could possibly be a better place to discuss “borrowing” the answers to the SAT, but the herd is so focused on cheering on their future NBA superstar that they won’t pay anyone else any attention. 

“As you know, one does not simply walk into Mordor,” Kyle says. 

Francesca laughs. “Are you for real?”

Kyle clears his throat, suddenly bashful. He’s a blusher. Good to know. “Look, we, uh, need an in. We aren’t asking you to do anything beyond getting us to the Third-Floor Corridor. That’s all. And after, if we don’t get thrown into Azkaban, we’re willing to share the Philosopher's Stone with you.” 

_Wow_. Kyle Jamison might look like a future frat boy, but he’s a total nerd. 

Francesca hums and tilts her head at Matty who’s letting her color in his nails with Sharpie. These boys must really be serious about getting her to cooperate. “Anything to add?” 

“I haven’t read either of those books,” Matty confesses. 

“Watching the movies is enough to get the references!” Kyle huffs and shakes off his momentary nerdy outburst. He looks Francesca straight in the eyes like he’s trying to reach into her soul or something. Good luck with that. “So? What do you say?”

“I’m thinking.” Francesca studies the two of them. Kyle can barely hide his impatience, shoulders rigid as he tries to distract himself by watching Desmond Rhodes palm the basketball and slam it into the basket hard enough to rattle the backboard. Matty, on the other hand, keeps sneaking nervous glances at her. “What?” 

“You’re a girl, right?” Matty howls when Kyle steps on his foot. “Fuck! I just meant you have woman’s intuition or whatever so you know how they think…” 

“Matty, leave her alone,” Kyle hisses.

“No, I’m curious,” Francesca says. “How can my ‘woman’s intuition’—” She can’t even say it without laughing. What a fucking weird thing to say. No wonder he needs help with girls. “—be of help to you, Matthew Matthews?” 

“Okay, so, if a girl goes off to college while her boyfriend stays home because he’s still in high school, and they talked pretty much every night up until recently when the boyfriend threw his phone at a tree and got shitfaced after another guy answered her phone—”

“Okay, I don’t need to hear any more,” Francesca cuts him off. “If I’m a freshman in college and meeting new people and _like rushing a sorority like_ ,” she says in a mocking Valley Girl voice that gets a chuckle out of Kyle, “my last priority is the boy I dated in high school.” 

“Ouch,” Kyle says.

Matty yanks his hand away from Francesca, not even caring about the streak of permanent marker it leaves down the end of his finger. “That might be true for a girl like you, but Sandy wouldn’t do that to me.” 

“Maybe not the old version of Sandy you knew in the safe little bubble of Princeton, New Jersey, where nothing interesting ever happens, but College Sandy, who’s feeling a little rebellious for the first time in her life and gets asked to coffee by a nude figure model with the body of a classical Greek statue?”

Matty opens his mouth as if to argue, but no words come out, silenced by his fear that her “woman’s intuition” (ridiculous) might be on to something. 

“Was it really necessary to put that image in his head?” Kyle asks. Francesca shrugs innocently. “Matty, Sandy isn’t even taking a figure drawing class…is she?”

“I don’t know,” Matty says. “I don’t know her class schedule. Why would I know her class schedule?”

“Um, because you’re her boyfriend and interested in her interests and daily life?” Francesca suggests. “Just putting it out there.”

“Look, can we please stay on topic here?” Kyle asks.

“So you guys want to steal the answers to the SAT.” Francesca lays it out plainly and wants to smile when it sends both boys into a panic, unsubtle as they check their surroundings. “Well, you should. It’s anti-girl. I mean, it underscores us on the math and verbal. It’s anti a lot of shit. On top of that, the College Board settled a complaint last year that the PSAT had a testicle bias for national merit scholarships.”

“See, you get it,” Kyle says. “So you’ll help us, right?”

“Um, no.”

“Why not?” Matty whines. 

“Well, gosh, Pacey, maybe I don’t think you and Dawson can pull it off. Do you have a plan?”

“We’re working on it,” Kyle assures her, but his own doubts are clear on his face. 

“Oh,” she says with mock understanding. Then turns impassive. “You’re wasting my time.” 

“Wait!” Kyle tries to stop her just as she stands up. “Don’t you find it ridiculous that from day one they tell us to be unique, tell us to be individuals and then they give us a standardized test that makes us all one faceless herd?”

Speaking of, Francesca takes a quick look around the gym and then at Kyle’s blue shirt that hangs off his lanky body, her lips tugging to one side in a smile. He stares back at her and something about his expression makes her _feel_ , makes that voice in the back of her head whisper _run_. Kyle takes in the rest of the gym and realizes he’s wearing school colors just like every other follower in the so-called faceless herd. 

“Desmond Rhodes Superstar!” the crowd cheers in perfect unison. Disgusting.

And that’s Francesca’s cue to leave. She’s never been to a school function because she wanted to be there. This might have been less boring than the average school day, but she isn’t about to get caught up in this stupidity that could potentially jeopardize her chance at finally getting away from New Jersey, away from her father. 

“A hundred million dollars a year!” Kyle shouts as he chases after her. Does this guy ever give up? “Probably sixty million of that from girls alone. For what? I mean, look around. How many girls are going to get screwed over by this test? What’s that going to do to their self-esteem on top of everything else they have to deal with? The School Board sure doesn’t care as long as they get paid. Why should we play by their rules?”

She remembers how Kyle kept stealing glances at her (and Anna Ross) when he should have been focused on his own exam during the last testing day. He looked genuinely concerned for her (again, and Anna Ross) even when she was so sure he didn’t even know her name. What’s with that? What’s his deal?

Francesca stops just short of the gym’s double doors and spins around to face him. Kyle stops just short of running into her. He seems so unassuming, so unaware of the persuasive power he can have over people with his determination and perchance for speeches coupled with his All-American golden boy physicality. He has so much to learn.

“You don’t think you might be preaching to the converted here?” Francesca asks. 

“I know I am,” Kyle says. “I know you see things for what they are and you aren’t afraid to push back against a broken system. That’s why we came to you. We need your help.”

“What are you, a future law student? Used car salesman?” Francesca guesses. 

“Architect. Cornell," Kyle says confidently. Persuasive and creative. A charismatic smile paired with an artistic ambition. Maybe he isn’t as boring as she initially assumed. “Please? Will you help us? In exchange, we’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute!” Matty calls out from a little ways away, preoccupied with watching the final seconds of the quarter even though Desmond Rhodes is single-handedly winning by an embarrassingly large margin. “I didn’t agree to that! Don’t include me in that deal!” 

“Fine,” Kyle says, turning his soft, desperate gaze to her. “In exchange for your help, _I_ will do whatever you want. No questions asked. So what do you say, Curtis? You in?” 

In all honesty, it doesn’t take Francesca long to come to a decision, but she likes watching them squirm so she lets it stretch on just a little longer. Life in this boring little suburb is about to get a lot more interesting. “What the hell. It sounds like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That shared look between Kyle and Francesca in the gym and her smiling with only one side of her mouth [ (gif)](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/post/177504318942) !!! My heart!!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>   
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	5. Stagnation & Turpitude

After being raised to be perfect, to stand above the rest, Anna Ross finds comfort in sitting back behind her camera, blending in for once and capturing a single moment in time, something she finds interesting or beautiful, sometimes both or neither. 

She loves photographing Desmond the most. He is poetry in motion, effortlessly defying the average human’s physical capability with how much ground he can cover in one stride, how high he can jump, his timing, reflexes and overall dexterity. He’s the perfect combination of athleticism and art and he’s only seventeen. Once he’s a NBA superstar, she’s going to love bragging about having the first film photograph of _The_ Desmond Rhodes dunking.

If it wasn’t for Desmond, Anna wouldn’t spend her evenings at basketball games. If it wasn’t for her camera, she’d probably be sitting alone in the bleachers. Anna is most comfortable pacing alone the baseline and snapping photos. It’s one of the few things that takes her out of her head, quiets her thoughts and the constant worry about her to-do list that’s always the length of her arm.

When she catches Francesca Curtis talking to Kyle Jamison in her viewfinder, Anna lowers her camera and watches them from afar. Matty’s watching them too, but giving them space. She knows Matty from Drama Club, but it’s still strange to see him detached from Sandy. Despite being in the same grade, Anna hasn’t said a word to Kyle and the last time Francesca ever spoke to her was in Digital Media class sophomore year. 

_“You’re good at that,” Francesca said, nodding to one of Anna’s photos. It had honestly startled her that Francesca, a fifteen-year-old girl with a nose ring and a thing for challenging (pissing off) the faculty, would ever want to speak to_ her _. She didn’t even think Francesca Curtis knew she existed._

_Anna had brightened immediately. Praise for her photos felt different, better than the praise she’d become accustomed to—for her grades, being the perfect student, the perfect daughter._

_“Thank you,” Anna said._

_“You should take photos for my web page. Have you seen it?”_

_She had. Davenport ~~High~~ Lie School. Anna couldn’t say she was particularly impressed. It was obvious that Francesca put a lot of time and effort into the construction and maintenance of the web page. The design was aesthetically pleasing in a Dante’s Inferno kind of way and there wasn’t a single typo. But Anna wasn’t particularly interested in school gossip in any form. _

_“I have,” Anna said. “Pictures of what exactly?”_

_“Injustice, corruption on campus, the truth beneath the gilded high school bullshit. I need to write that down.” Francesca scrawled exactly that on the cover of one of her spiral notebooks in permanent marker. “Exposing dumb jocks who cheat on their clueless girlfriends and the way girls tend to crucify other girls for not conforming to socially-acceptable feminine behavior_. _”_

_Anna blinked. That was a lot to take in. “So basically you want me to play paparazzi?”_

_“I can pay you. Nothing unreasonable and on a photo by photo basis depending on how usable the material is.”_

_“Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t you think it’s kind of...wrong? It’s going to make a lot of people angry.”_

_Francesca stopped scribbling on her notebook and stared at Anna in a way that made her uncomfortable, like she saw right through her. Something Anna could never quite make sense of. Was she that transparent?_

_“Oh.” That’s all Francesca said before she shoved her notebook into her bag and started walking away._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anna followed her out into the hallway._

_“Nothing. Forget I asked.”_

_Anna couldn’t tell you where this burst of boldness came from, but something about the way Francesca spoke, stared through her, rubbed her the wrong way. “Seriously? And you’re supposed to be all about the truth?”_

_“Fine. If you want to know, it means you’re the type of person who thinks if they do everything they’re told to like they’re supposed to and stay in line then everything will work out and the universe will reward you. But that’s not how life works. Shitty people do shitty things to feel powerful and I’m going to expose them for it. But have fun with your boring life of ignorant bliss.”_

Since then, Francesca has never gone out of her way to talk to Anna. Not even in class. 

Kyle seems to be faring much better judging by the way Francesca eyes him with a barely concealed smile. How would Francesca feel if Anna took a photo of them right now and posted it on the internet without her permission? Not that Anna would ever do that. If she’s honest with herself, Francesca Curtis nailed exactly what Anna hates most about herself. 

Later, when she’s waiting out in front of the school to congratulate Desmond like she does after every basketball game, Anna wonders what Francesca would think about Kyle walking up to her with a shy expression on his face like he is now. 

***

It makes a little more sense why Kyle Jamison would be hanging out with Francesca Curtis when he tells her all about his plan to “borrow” (steal) the answers to the SAT. They’re both insane. That has to be the one thing they have in common. At least Kyle has the decency to appear sheepish, worried even. 

“Okay, um, this is random,” Anna says once he finishes his pitch. “What brought this on exactly?”

“Well, I saw you the day of the SAT,” Kyle says. “And I guess I want to share it with someone who deserves it.”

Her cheeks burn at the realizing that he witnessed the worst day of her life. After all of the prep and studying and tutoring her family spent good money on, Anna couldn’t even fill in a single bubble. She didn’t even get as far as her name on the answer sheet. Has anyone ever gotten a zero on the SAT sans not showing up at all? She knows she’s never seen her mom so disappointed than the day her results came in and she opened the letter without Anna’s permission.

“What makes you think I deserve it?” Anna asks. 

She means, _what makes you think I deserve anything?_

Kyle frowns and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, I just… You’re Anna Ross. Your achievements at this school kind of speak for themselves, don’t they?” 

Anna knows it’s unreasonable to be disappointed that all he knows her for is her name and her foot-long list of school activities and awards when this is the first time they’re even talking, but she feels disappointment just the same. 

“I’m flattered,” Anna begins, “but I don’t know you and what you’re talking about, it’s wrong. It’s cheating.”

Kyle flinches, but quickly gathers himself anew. “It’s a victimless crime.” 

“Okay, hypothetical situation, you’re driving, it’s late, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you get to a red light. Do you run the red light?” She gives him a moment to think it over, but he’s so easy to read, his answer shows all over his face. “No. You wait. Because a victimless crime is still a crime. It isn’t worth it.”

“Maybe it is,” he counters. “Maybe I run it. Depends.”

“On what?” 

“If I’m trying to get somewhere important.”

Smooth. 

Judging by the grin on his objectively handsome face, he surprised himself too.

His earnestness doesn’t make what he’s proposing any less immoral. Even if he seems like a genuinely good guy. Having just spoken to him for the first time in their entire high school experience, Anna knows not to make assumptions. He could be deceiving her and doing a good job of it, but part of her wants to trust him for some foolish, unquantifiable reason. Her fingers itch to capture this moment on film, but even she knows randomly taking a photo of a boy you’ve never talked to isn’t socially acceptable. 

“This dude bothering you, Anna?” Desmond steps up at her side, towering over Kyle who quickly backs a good two arm lengths away. It’s easy to see why people find Desmond intimidating. It’s always funny to her since he’s the sweetest, gentlest soul she knows. 

“Des, it’s fine.” Anna turns to Kyle with an apologetic smile. “And to answer your question, no. Thank you for the offer.” 

Kyle nods and ducks his head. Is that to hide his disappointment or regret? “It’s cool. Really. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone…” 

“Yeah, of course, you don’t have to worry.”

Kyle nods to Desmond. “Good game, man.” 

Even when Kyle’s halfway across the parking lot, Desmond continues to glare in his direction. He can be _such_ a big brother.

“You can do _so_ much better than that,” Desmond says. “Just FYI.”

“Oh yeah? Like who?” Anna asks just to change the subject. 

“John Tucker thinks you’re hot.”

“The sophomore?” Anna shoves Desmond with both hands right in his chest, but he’s solid muscle and doesn’t even move. “No. No way.”

“I wouldn’t judge you for being into younger men. And he can ball for a white boy. What did that guy offer you?”

The answers to the SAT, the key to her perfect future. 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that,” Anna says. “I hope tonight’s game wasn’t too boring for you.”

“It was just a scrimmage and I wouldn’t call it a challenge, but as long as you got your pictures,” Desmond says. “So am I finally gonna get you to come to an afterparty? C’mon, A, high school’s almost over and you haven’t even come to one of the lame parties celebrating me. I should be offended. I thought we were friends.” 

“You know I’d love nothing more than to celebrate you, but my parents are expecting me.” Anna tries to sound regretful, but there’s a reason she’s the stage manager of the musical and never under the spotlight.

“Fine. But write down State Finals Afterparty in your little planner.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I get home.”

A silver convertible pulls up in front of them, speakers pumping out an overplayed pop song. All of the simpering cheerleaders try to entice Desmond into riding to the afterparty with them except for Gina Prestolani, the valedictorian (to Anna’s salutatorian) and a fellow photographer on the yearbook staff. How she manages to best the entire class academically and have a thriving social life, Anna will never understand. 

“Need a ride, superstar?” The head cheerleader asks Desmond from behind the wheel.

He nods, acting all cool and demur, but when he spins around to face Anna, his back to the most popular girls in school, he gives Anna a withering expression, but he won’t turn them down. Everyone expects Desmond Rhodes to arrive with a cheerleader on each arm. Such an entrance will only enhance his reputation. She wonders why he goes through the motions to maintain his mask, but never asks, afraid he might ask the same of her.

“Promise me you won’t spend _all_ night studying, huh, A.”

Anna gasps with mock outrage. “Desmond, how lame do you think I am?”

“And don’t spend all night in your dark room either!”

Ugh. He really does know her too well. 

Anna watches Desmond coolly climb into the backseat of the convertible, welcomed by giggles and fluttering, fake lashes. The head cheerleader gives Anna a smug smirk like she won or something. Anna would roll her eyes, but then she notices Gina smiling at her for some reason. Feeling flustered, never a fan of scrutiny, Anna twists the strap of her camera around her fingers and walks back to her car. 

This isn’t the first time Desmond invited her and even tried to guilt trip her into going to one of the many parties that follow basketball games. She daydreams about them sometimes and imagines loud music, bodies dancing too closely and lots of bad decision-making. In all of these daydreams, she never sees herself there. Parties with her peers where everyone’s trying to impress each other or prove how “cool” they are sound like an unproductive use of time.

Once she gets home, Anna sneaks in through the kitchen as quietly as she can, not wanting to alert either of her parents. She goes straight down to her basement dark room, her safe haven. Her parents had been against the idea, wholly uncomfortable with how much time she spends on photography as is. Anna had to fight for it. Once she pointed out how she does everything they ask, gets good grades and follows every rule, they had to give her this much, but only this much. 

There’s something calming, almost therapeutic about developing film by hand. For a few hours, she can relax in a world of her own creation where she can control everything and ignore the outside world. It’s the only time and place when she feels like she’s really being herself. 

No matter how many times she does this, Anna still feels a sense of childlike excitement as she watches the photos develop in their bath. She carefully moves one of Desmond backpedaling to the other end of the court after watching a (rare) jump shot swish through the net, exuding a level of confidence Anna can’t imagine having. 

She carefully hangs another photo of the cheerleaders in their perfectly pressed uniforms. Some of them, but not all, can be horrible and take popularity way too seriously, but Anna admires their sincere enthusiasm in the moment. At least, that’s what she tells herself to justify why she took the photo in the first place. Gina is at the center of the composition, pompoms in hand, mid-shout. The camera loves her. 

“Anna, honey?” 

The door starts to open and Anna races across the room, faster than she ever has before and slams the door shut. 

“Mom, you can’t just do that!” Anna shouts. 

“I’m sorry!” Though her mother sounds more exasperated than apologetic. “We need you upstairs and wearing your Sunday best!”

“What? Why?”

“We had dinner with dad’s friend, Tom Hackett. He might be able to help us with Brown so you need to put on a nice dress and make the impression of your life!” 

Anna leans against the door and closes her eyes. It’s always “us” and “we” with her parents. He might be able to help _us_. _We_ need to pat your college applications with anything that will make it more impressive. It only gets more exhausting the closer they get to application deadlines. 

“Fine minutes, Anna Veronica Ross, and not a second after!” 

She can hear her mom stomp away in her good heels through the flimsy door that really needs a lock. So much for having a quiet night to spend however she wants. Because she doesn’t know any other way to be, Anna puts what she wants aside and does as she’s told. 

***

“So, Anna, what are you interested in other than photography?”

Tom Hackett smiles at her from over a glass of whiskey she watched her mother pour for him as every diligent homemaker should. He looks so put-together from his shiny, new shoes to his hair that’s combed through with product to make it look like that. It’s hard for Anna to concentrate. She keeps wondering if this guy ever gets tired of trying so hard to look so perfect. Isn’t he exhausted like she is? 

“Anna is very involved in the theater department,” her mom explains for her. “She’s the stage manager of the school’s musical. It really shows her leadership, organization and appreciation for the arts.”

“Our Anna sure is well-rounded,” her father adds. “The perfect student.”

_The perfect student_. 

“Anna, tell Mr. Hackett about the drive you single-handedly organized, the one to get students to pledge to never do drugs or drink underaged,” Mrs. Ross says. The moment Anna tries to get a word in, her mother continues, “It was absolutely brilliant and all Anna’s doing! She knows exactly what she wants to do with her life.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Hackett agrees. “Anna sure does have potential.” 

_Potential_. 

The word leaves her paralyzed much like the day of the SAT. 

How can this man who’s just met her judge her potential? How can a faceless institution of higher education? How can everyone see her potential when Anna can’t? 

She’s quiet for the rest of the evening, not that anyone notices, least of all her parents who are happy to talk her up and talk over her. Anna excuses herself when the adults start to reminisce about their years at Brown, and it’s a small mercy when no one argues and makes her stay. 

Sitting at her desk, Anna’s eyes keep shifting between a stack of SAT prep books and her monthly calendar that’s packed enough to make her feel burnt out just looking at it. 

A car horn steals her attention along with loud pop music and thumping bass. It’s that silver convertible again. Cheerleaders, still in their uniforms, are hanging halfway out of the car, laughing and squealing into the night. Anna can’t relate at all. She wonders what that’s like, feeling young and carefree and invincible, but can’t see herself trying. 

“You know, your father and I have noticed the effort you’re putting into this re-test.”

“Mom…” Anna’s voice breaks with a vulnerability that makes her feel like she's drowning. She turns her attention to her planner, not wanting to see her mom’s expression. 

“The door was open this time.”

“I know,” Anna says. “But...what if I mess it up again?” 

“You won’t,” her mother answers. How can she be so sure? “We’re proud of you, honey. Don’t you ever forget that. I’m sure you won’t let us down.”

She means well even if oblivious to the kind of pressure it puts on Anna. Her parents are two very proud alumni who met and fell in love at Brown University. She knows her mom harbors silent regrets when instead of going on to a promising law career she chose to stay home and raise the kids. They were just as hard on Anna’s two older sisters who both went to Brown. 

“Calm down,” her sister, Amanda, tells her every time Anna calls her in a panic. “Once you get into Brown and get away from mom and dad, you can do whatever you want.”

Easy for her to say. Anna has a sneaking suspicion that her parents are even harder on her after Amanda went rogue, deviated from the five-year plan they laid out for her to become the most powerful attorney in New York City and chose to study art history instead. 

Pinning her cordless phone between her shoulder and cheek, Anna pulls the Brown directory her sister gave her from her desk drawer. “Think you can make it to the musical? If you bring Jim, mom’ll be too preoccupied asking when he’s going to propose to even mention Brown.”

“Like that'll ever happen. Mom and dad never shut up about their golden years at Brown. That’s as likely as Jim and I getting married before everyone has the right to.”

Even if Amanda had continued on the law path, her passion would have definitely driven her toward human rights law, equality and anti-discrimination, not corporate law like their parents wanted. Anna used to love the idea of following in Amanda’s footsteps, but getting there just feels unbearable and impossible these days. 

“Unfortunately, I’m going to be in Paris that week for a work thing,” Amanda says, “but I promise I will make it up to you.”

“You better.”

Cool job working as an art restorer for the MET. Handsome boyfriend who dotes on her. Fabulous Manhattan apartment. Amanda didn’t do so bad for herself, but she was always more daring and rebellious than either of the other Ross sisters. 

“Just suck it up and stick it out, Anna. High school is supposed to be awful. In five years, high school will feel like a bad dream and you’ll be living the life you actually want.” 

_What if I don’t know what life I want?_

Anna says goodnight instead of getting into that. She already knows Amanda will just tell her that isn’t something anyone else should decide for her. Before resigning herself to a night of tossing and turning and overthinking, she has another phone call to make. 

The Brown University directory provides page and page of those who did enough to get into the prestigious Ivy League. Even Anna can admit calling around to ask about SAT scores to give herself a range of success is something a crazy person does, but it’s also ingenious...right? 

If anything, it just makes her more anxious, but it’s routine at this point. 

Most of the answers fall between 1410 and 1360. The lowest she had found was 1210, which she circled multiple times, but almost seems like an outlier. She’s also encountered a range of personalities from Beth who was awake late, wired on caffeine, to Christie who was mean, a note Anna underlined twice. Her conversation with Kelly and Bri whose dorm sounded like they were in the middle of a rave on a weeknight was particularly interesting, but no help. 

Anna slides her finger down the list, searching for her victim for the night. She clears her throat as she dials, preparing her best telephone voice. 

“Hi, who’s this? Oh, Cleo? I think I dialed the wrong number, but you sound familiar.” Anna has said these words, played up this ruse so many times she’s memorized the script at this point. It comes naturally, easy. “What’s your Thursday morning class? ...M.E. lecture? Mine too! Listen, I won’t keep you any longer. But before you go, my roommates and I are having a discussion. Maybe you can help. What’s the lowest SAT score you’ve ever heard of anyone who’s gotten into Brown?”

Anna jots down “1360” and frowns. To get anything close to that, she’d have to finish the test and so far, she hasn’t even done that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gina Prestolani is a character from the movie "Pizza My Heart" played by Shiri Appleby who was in "Swimfan" with Erika Christensen. Amanda is a character from the movie "Head Over Heels" played by Monica Potter who was in "Parenthood" with Erika. 
> 
> Anna & Desmond = my fave friendship. The movie hinted at them being friends prior to the heist and I always wanted more. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	6. Snooping & Treaties

“Matty, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“Me? Dramatic? You think I’m being dramatic?!” Matty paces back and forth along the length of the school bathroom, practically hyperventilating. “I think I’m allowed to be a little dramatic! No, I’m _entitled_ to be dramatic! You told Anna Ross! You told the class brain! Damn it, Kyle! Why?!”

Okay, so maybe Matty has a right to be angry, but it felt like the right move. Not that Kyle can claim to even know the difference between right and wrong with what they’re planning. Seeing Anna at the basketball game just made him remember her on the day of the SAT, lost in thought, hopeless. He wanted to let her know that she isn’t the only one feeling a little lost and what better way than to bring her in, give her the option?

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyle says, interrupting Matty’s ranting and raving. “She said no.” 

“But she knows!” Matty shouts. “You like this girl? I get that you don’t have much experience with girls, Kyle, but there are ways to get in her pants that don’t involve telling on yourself!”

“No. It’s not like that. I just got this feeling about her...” Kyle doesn’t know why he bothers trying to explain it to Matty, who’s already so overwhelmed, jittery and twitching. He won’t listen anyway. “Something tells me she needs this just as badly as we do.” 

“Oh, well, then everything’s just fine, isn’t it!” Matty goes back to pacing. “Something told you to walk up to Anna Ross and invite her to steal the SAT?” When the pacing no longer helps, Matty punches the nearest stall door, making it swing inward. Someone squawks, “Ow!” from inside. 

Kyle and Matty freeze and look at each other like two cartoon characters just before a piano falls on them. 

Roy Park Sun, Davenport High School’s resident stoner, grins from within the stall, a joint in one hand as he cough-laughs. A pair of external speakers hang over his shoulders as he casually sits cross-legged on the toilet. Thankfully, his pants aren’t down.

Matty eyes the speakers. “Did you steal those from the library?” 

Instead of answering, Roy hits play on his MP3 player and the bathroom fills with the musical stylings of Afroman’s “Because I Got High.” A classic.

_La la da da da da_

The bathroom door flies open and the tension increases tenfold when Bentley “Striker” Scrumfeld barges in with his posse of cookiecutter boy band wannabes in matching Lacoste polo shirts, purposefully distressed jeans and all-white K-Swiss sneakers. 

“Matthew,” Striker says in his insufferable accent half of the school thinks is fake. “Is this where you’ve been hiding, the men’s loo? I was surprised yet unsurprised you didn’t bother to show up at auditions. Losing yet another leading role to me. Well, one man can only put up with so much humiliation.” 

“Sorry to disappoint, _Benny_ , but I only did drama for my girl,” Matty says, “and since she isn’t here…” 

“Excuses, excuses.” Striker waves a hand dismissively. “Speaking of the lovely Sandy, I never knew what she saw in you. Lucky for her, she no longer has to put up with you drooling all over her twenty-four/seven.”

Matty grabs Striker by the collar and his knockoff Backstreet Backup springs into action along with Kyle like the dutiful best friend he is. Roy cheers them on from where he’s still sitting on the toilet, shouting, “Yeah, kill each other!”

Striker breaks away from Matty’s grip on his now rumpled shirt collar and gets close up in Matty’s face, so much so their noses nearly bump.

“Or kiss him if that’s what you’re into,” Roy adds.

“As fun as this is, Matthew,” Striker straights his collar, always so caught up in appearances, “I have business to attend to with your friend here.” Matty glances at Kyle. “No. Your other friend.”

They all turn to Roy and watch the amusement drain from his face. 

“Not my friend,” Matty says quickly. “He’s all yours.”

Roy throws his hands up in the air. “Dude! Is that any way to treat someone who knows your dirty little secret?”

Kyle massages the space between his eyebrows, wondering how he got into this situation, a situation he could not even fathom a few days ago. How did something that felt so simple a few days ago get so complicated?

“Okay, you win,” Roy says with a heavy sigh. “Let me just…” 

Roy throws his mostly smoked joint right at Striker who shouts, “You imbecile! These jeans are Abercrombie and Fitch!” 

As Striker frets over his jeans and his friends stomp out the joint like it’s a bug, Roy drops to his knees and crawls under the partitions that separate the bathroom stalls. 

“That can’t be sanitary,” Kyle says. 

“What are you doing?” Striker shouts, in full tantrum mode. “Get him!” 

Roy, living up to his dunce reputation, tries to yank at the iron bars on the bathroom window like he might be able to escape that way. Sadly, he’s mistaken and probably high. The biggest of Striker’s henchmen grabs Roy by the back of his shirt and throws him up against the sinks.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Roy shouts. “That was the first time I got caught taking the SAT for anyone! And I woulda gotten away with it too if—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Striker shouts. 

“You did what?!” Kyle asks. 

“You trusted _this guy_ to take the SAT for you?” Matty motions at Roy, who drops to his knees at Striker’s feet, not too proud to beg. “Wow, Benny. You’re stupider than I thought.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Striker mutters, placing his foot on Roy’s head that’s covered in a slouchy beanie. “Now, before I kick the shit out of you, I want my money back.”

“I don’t have it,” Roy confesses, glancing from the stomped out joint to the MP3 player and the speakers he hastily abandoned when making a break for the window. 

“That’s very unfortunate for you.” Striker cracks his knuckles. “Matthew, if I were you, I’d leave right now and forget everything you heard and saw.” 

“Fine by me,” Matty says, heading for the door. Kyle remains in place, frowning at this entire situation. How is he supposed to just walk away when he knows Roy’s about to get the crap kicked out of him? 

“Wait!” Roy pleas desperately. “Uh, I can make it up to you! _We_ can!”

“Don’t drag me into your mess, Roy, or I’ll beat your ass myself!” Matty yells. 

“You can, huh?” Striker purrs. “My score was canceled, but luckily, my father is well-connected and I haven’t been barred from re-taking the test. Is this mongrel talking out of his arse or can either of you gents vouch for him?” 

After a lengthy pause, a telepathic conversation where Matty tells him _don’t you fucking dare, Kyle_ , and Roy begs with shimmering eyes and a protruding bottom lip, Kyle can’t turn his back. “I can vouch for him. We can talk, but your friends need to leave.” 

Striker laughs. “I’m not stupid. They stay.” 

“Matty and Roy will leave too,” Kyle says. “I’m not going to fight you in a bathroom.” 

“Fine.” Striker nods from his friends to Roy who’s still groveling on the disgusting bathroom floor. “Don’t let him out of your sight. Knowing this scum, he’ll try to.” 

Two of Striker’s lackeys pick Roy up off the ground and shove him out the door. Matty remains, staring at Kyle, begging him to not do what he’s clearly about to do

“Matty, just wait outside,” Kyle says.

“Damn it!” Matty punches another bathroom stall, harder this time. “Ow!” 

Once Matty leaves the bathroom, dragging his feet the entire time, Kyle knows he has to be careful. What’s said in this room can make or break everything they’re trying to accomplish. Kyle has never thought of himself as persuasive, but he has to try. 

“If we get you the answers to the SAT, you wipe Roy’s slate clean,” Kyle says, acting like he has any authority when he’s actually flying by the seat of his pants. “And you can’t tell anyone, not even your friends. If this gets out and the whole school starts talking about it, the teachers will hear about it and then we’re all screwed. Does that sound fair to you?” 

“And how do I know you aren’t trying to pull another fast one on me and I turn up to the SAT and get screwed _again_?” Striker asks. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

“You can kill Roy like you originally planned to,” Kyle says. “Now do we have a deal?”

Striker sizes up Kyle. “Get me the answers to the SAT or you’re all dead.” 

“Keep your mouth shut or no one gets answers.”

“I’ll keep up my end of the bargain,” Striker swears, but for obvious reasons Kyle isn’t convinced. “You better keep yours.” 

Once Striker leaves the bathroom and Kyle feels like he can finally breathe again, Matty shoves his way back inside with a stricken expression on his face. “What the fuck did you just do, Kyle?” 

“What was I supposed to do?” Kyle refuses to back down or feel guilty especially when he knows this was the only move. “Let Roy take a beating and tell Striker anyway? I got in front of a problem waiting to happen and got to set my own terms. I’m doing my best here, man.” 

Matty doesn’t seem any less pissed off, but doesn’t argue as he storms off. 

***

While the rest of his English class tries to decode William Shakespeare’s truest intentions, Kyle scribbles and crumples, scribbles and crumples. He must go through a dozen little slips of notebook paper trying to figure out an inconspicuous way to ask Francesca Curtis if she wants to go on an intel-gathering mission after school. 

Should he tell her about Roy? Nah. That seems like something best done in person rather than a slip of paper that needs to fit through the grate in her locker. As soon as class lets out, Kyle finds her locker and tries to feed his coded message into it. 

“What are you doing?” 

Francesca leans against the locker next to hers, the curve of her full, red lips hinting at amusement. He’d hate to ruin that with the less amusing news he has for her. 

“I believe I’m following proper protocol this time.” Kyle mimes slipping the note into her locker, but just as he feared, it’s much too thick to fit. She must think he’s a complete idiot. 

“Rookie mistake.” Francesca takes the note from between his fingers and reads his scribbles. With her eyes on his note, Kyle steals a moment to admire her. It’s cool that she isn’t afraid to dress how she wants even if it goes against their judgemental classmates’ name brand bias. He must seem so dull to her. “Fact finding mission? Cool. I’ll be there.”

“Good. Great. Do you need a ride?”

Francesca eyes him from over the top of the crumpled shred of paper. Her eyes are green and intense, further accentuated by thick, black eyeliner. “No. I can drive myself thanks.” 

“Cool. I guess I’ll see you after school.”

“Yeah.” She opens her locker and riffles through its contents. She’s completely hidden behind the metal door when she asks, “Why are you still here?”

“Actually, there’s something I should tell you,” Kyle says. “Are you headed to lunch?” 

“Library.” 

“Is it cool if we talk there?” 

Francesca shuts her locker and stares at him, perplexed, probably wondering why a loser like him would insist on taking up her time beyond what’s strictly necessary. 

“No eating in the library,” she says.

Kyle weighs the crumpled brown paper bag clutched in his hand. “Well, if I can’t pull off undercover eating in the library then we’re probably screwed.” 

Francesca presses her lips together, spins around and starts walking. It wasn’t a flat-out fuck off so he scrambles to keep up with her. On the way, Kyle quietly explains what happened earlier with Roy and Striker. The last thing he wants is for her to figure out that the train is already off the rails and decide she wants out.

“If Bentley Scrumfeld thinks a perfect SAT score and a one hit wonder with a boy band abroad is enough to get him into Juilliard, he’s more delusional than I thought,” Francesca says. 

Fair point. But...

“Wait, so you aren’t upset?” Kyle asks. “Because when all of this went down I could’ve sworn Matty’s head was going to explode like a cartoon volcano.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’re detached at the hip. I could’ve sworn it was physically impossible for you to be apart. Is there trouble in dude paradise?”

“High school is the furthest thing from paradise.” 

They turn a corner and almost run right into an old TV set being wheeled around on a cart. Kyle puts his arm out in front of Francesca the way a mom does with their child in the car after unexpectedly breaking too hard. As if he hasn’t embarrassed himself enough in front of this girl. Dave pops his head out from around the TV and seeing them together leaves him stunned. 

“Oh, hey, Kyle,” Dave says. “You found her locker, huh?” 

“Yup.” Kyle tries to keep his cringe on the inside. As someone who’s known Dave since grade school, Kyle is keenly aware of his massive crush on Web Page Girl, which is how Kyle knew her before learning her name. Isn’t hard to guess what’s running through Dave’s head right now.

“We have work to do so...” Francesca hooks her arm around Kyle’s elbow and it surprises him almost as much as it surprises Dave. 

“B-but,” Dave stutters. “You don’t even have any classes together!”

Kyle’s brow furrows. “How do you know tha—”

Francesca yanks Kyle away before he can get the question out. Dave has always been Matty’s friend more than his own. They run in the same circles and hang out when in a group, but don’t really talk. Dave has the decency to look ashamed at least.

“And you called _me_ a stalker?” Kyle asks. 

“He’s in AV Club and helped me with video editing software _once_. Now he can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

“I could tell him to lay off if you want.” 

He might do it anyway if it’s making her uncomfortable. Dave would probably go crying to Matty and make life harder than it needs to be, but just like with Anna and earlier with Roy, Kyle’s going to help when he can. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Francesca laughs like she’s picturing what that would look like and he likes the sound of it, of her. He could listen to her laugh all day, even if it’s at him. 

When she realizes her hand is still tucked into the crook of his elbow, Francesca pulls away and picks out a table in a secluded corner of the library, far away from the librarian’s desk. As Francesca takes out her laptop and starts typing away, Kyle starts on his peanut butter sandwich and wonders if Matty has a point. 

Does he have a hero complex? He doesn’t expect recognition or compensation. He just can’t stand by or turn a blind eye when he can make things better for someone. 

“Do you think what we’re trying to do is wrong?” Kyle asks. 

“Do you think the way the College Board operates is right?” 

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” 

“Do you think the universe gives a fuck about counting wrongs and rights?” Her fingers suddenly stop typing as she meets his eyes. Before, Kyle would have said yes. He believes in karma, but now that he knows the man-made system doesn’t care if they succeed or fail as long as it gets fed? “Aw, is someone having cold feet?” 

“It’s a little late to even think like that, isn’t it?” Kyle slides the other half of his sandwich over to her and takes a bite from his apple. It’s louder than he’d like. Shoot. 

Francesca picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. Noticing his surprise, she says, “I like peanut butter.” 

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Smooth. Duh. Is that even a question?” Francesca licks her lips. “I mean, it’s never too late to bitch out if your conscience can’t cut it.” Her lips twitch at one corner, that same hint at a smile that made his stomach flip at the basketball game. It happens again. He feels it right in his gut. “You could always say screw Roy, but that’s not who you are, is it?”

“This conversation seems like a lot of questions, little answers.”

“And that surprises you? If we had more answers than questions, we wouldn’t be trying to do what we’re trying to do.” 

Kyle nods, can’t exactly argue, and pulls out another piece of paper. A lot more paper got torn out and crumpled in order to perfect this one. He slides it across the table and Francesca laughs when she sees it. 

“You wrote out an actual contract?” she asks. 

“I even looked up legal jargon on the internet to make sure it’s legit.”

_This contract is between Kyle Jamison and Francesca Curtis. Kyle Jamison agrees to do one favor no questions asked in exchange for Francesca Curtis’ help infiltrating Castle Grayskull._

“You really aren’t a future law student,” Francesca says. “This contract is unenforceable. No confidentiality clause? Not even an NDA to protect us from sharing each other’s information?” 

“I don’t really think that’s necessary.”

“Why not?”

“I trust you.” 

Francesca tilts her head to one side in her confusion. It’s adorable. “This is literally the second time we’ve spoken to each other.”

“I mean, you could report us or write up some big exposé for your web page, but I have a feeling that’s not who you are.” Kyle reaches into the small pocket of his backpack and pulls out a mini wooden sword he made out of a popsicle stick. He slides it across the table to Francesca just like he did with the sandwich and contract. “To fend off your stalkers.” 

Francesca picks up the mini sword and laughs when she finds his phone number written on it. “Smooth.” 

“It’s for SAT-related purposes. That’s all.” 

“That’s all?” She slides the mini sword back to him. “I prefer email.” 

Kyle writes his email address on the other side before sliding it back. One more time and if she doesn’t want it, he’ll back off. The last thing he wants to do is pull a Dave.

“We should at least add a termination clause.” Francesca pulls out a pen and uses her teeth to pry off the cap. “If Kyle Jamison refuses Francesca Curtis’ one favor and/or Francesca Curtis fails to grant him access to the nine circles of hell, this contract is null and void.” 

“Are _you_ a future law student?” Kyle asks. 

Instead of answering, Francesca signs her name on the bottom of the contract and sends it over to him to do the same. He signs his freewill over to her like something out of a fairytale before handing it back. 

“As long as you don’t make me do anything too embarrassing…like shove a whole banana split down my pants,” Kyle mutters under his breath.

Francesca laughs as she folds the contract in half and slips it into the plastic front of her binder along with the popsicle stick sword. “That’s kinky and weird. Has that actually happened to you?”

“Truth or dare at sleep away camp, it’s the stuff of nightmares.”

“Well, you could have added a no banana split clause, but too late now. Thanks for the idea though. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I guess my future’s in your hands now, Curtis.”

Francesca hums and begins typing on her laptop again. When she doesn’t ask him what he’s still doing here, Kyle makes himself comfortable and pulls out his trusty, pocket-sized sketchbook. He lets his pencil wander on the page as he goes over the intel-gathering mission in his head. He can’t help glancing over at her, can’t help noticing how focused she is on whatever it is she puts her mind to. If they absolutely had to bring a stranger in on the heist, he’s glad it’s her. 

***

Matty gives him the silent treatment the entire drive to the Curtis Properties building. 

Not feeling like he needs to or should apologize, Kyle ignores the silent tantrum and makes Roy sit in between them in Matty’s truck. Kyle uses the drive to observe the newest member of their SAT group and learns that the guy has the attention span of a goldfish. He’s physically incapable of being quiet or still for more than a minute. That could be a problem.

“Are we there yet?” Roy asks for the third time. 

“Roy, shut up,” Matty and Kyle say in unison. 

“Dad and dad are so mean,” Ray whines. “Oh! We should like, get pancakes after!”

And pancakes appear to be his favorite food. He’s also mentioned them three times.

The Curtis Properties building makes complete sense from a design standpoint. Office workers who spend their 9 to 5 in cubicles under fluorescent lighting need all of the natural light they can get even though most of the outward facing offices go to upper level managers and the like. The building is more than a few stories tall, reaching into the sky as if to challenge God.

They meet Francesca in an area of her choosing, shrouded in pine trees and decorative shrubbery. She insists that the security guards don’t bother to go this far out on their perimeter patrol every few hours. A head shorter than him standing side-by-side, Francesca stares up at the final boss in front of them. 

“Can you get us up there?” Kyle asks. 

“Well, probably,” she replies, “but then what?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle says, “but we’re not talking about a big heist, okay? It should be as easy as getting in, finding the answers, making a copy, and getting out. Today, we need to think about the smartest and easiest way to do that. Keep in mind the lay of the building, exits, placement of security cameras, personnel—” 

Roy cackles out of nowhere, clearly not paying attention. He’s more enamored with an enormous crow perched in the tree above them. When it caws, Roy caws back, flapping his arms in a mocking fashion. The crow cries out again and flaps its long, dark wings. Roy nearly falls down with laughter. When the crow caws a third time and swoops down right at Roy, he drops to the ground with a shriek. 

“Awesome,” Francesca says. “A crow cawing thrice is a death omen.”

“Perfect,” Matty says with a frenzied laugh. “Between Bird Boy and Emily the Strange, you assembled a crack team, Cap.”

“What was I supposed to do, Matty?” Kyle feels his frustration growing. They aren’t going to get anywhere if they can’t get along long enough to discuss a plan. They might as well turn themselves over to the police and say goodbye to getting into any college right now. “Roy knows so he’s a part of this now. Deal with it.”

“You told Anna Ross and she’s not here!” Matty shouts.

“You told Anna Ross?” Francesca asks. By her tone, you’d think he kicked a puppy or something else to personally offend her. 

“Yeah,” Matty says, pumped at the mere idea of having someone to gang up on him with. Dick. “He had a _feeling_ about her.”

“Was the feeling anywhere near your crotch?” Francesca asks. Yup. She’s personally offended. 

Roy laughs with even more delight and this is so obviously the first act of a shit show. 

Matty’s phone rings and it’s Sandy’s personalized ringtone, “Me Against the Music.” Britney Spears ft. Madonna. 

“I gotta take this…” 

Kyle doesn’t even try to convince him otherwise. When Matty has his Sandy-blinders on, it’s best to leave him be. Instead, Kyle tries to reorganize his thoughts, turns back to the rest of the team (fuck, they need to be a _team_ ; they’re so screwed) and Roy is gone.

“Where did Roy go?” Kyle asks. Francesca shrugs, so indifferent and distant when he thought they broke ground at lunch. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Curtis.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks with mock concern. “You don’t want to wait for Anna Ross to show up and out us because her pure, superior conscience can’t take the guilt of knowing? She’s the reason you were having cold feet earlier, right? This whole thing is _so_ fucked.” 

She pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket along with an expensive-looking silver lighter engraved with a fancy “B.” Before she can wiggle a cigarette free, Kyle asks, “Have you ever smoked on the roof before?” 

Francesca doesn’t answer, but starts walking ahead of him in what’s becoming her signature move. Kyle trails after her just like he did at lunch. They walk past a bronze statue of a stiff, stern-faced man standing guard at the front entrance. 

“Who’s that?” Kyle asks. 

“My father’s father,” Francesca answers. “I never met him, but apparently he told my father he wouldn’t amount to anything when he was a child so now he puts statues of him in front of the buildings he owns because he’s petty like that.” 

Noted. 

Once they step into the lobby, Francesca threads her arm through his. It takes no effort at all to synchronize their steps and when the pair of security guards look their way, they’re too busy regarding Francesca to pay him any attention. 

Kule ducks his head and whispers in her ear. “The power of ISP is at your command.” 

Francesca laughs and impatiently stabs at the elevator button with a knuckle. “Lucky you, nerd.” 

They take the elevator up to the top floor and when they step out, there’s activity going on in every direction. This is it. Just as expected, a woman is stationed at the reception desk. She’s currently speaking with a man carting around a handcart stacked with boxes. She seems reluctant to let him pass and he’s wearing a legitimate FedEx uniform. 

The moment the woman catches sight of them, Kyle turns around, shielding both his face and all of Francesca. She really is tiny compared to him, standing so close it's impossible not to notice.

“Babe, you were right. This is the wrong floor,” Kyle announces. 

“Told you so,” Francesca says, dragging him to the stairwell by his arm. In a quieter voice, she asks, “Anything of interest?”

“Multiple cameras down in the lobby. The front desk is going to be a problem and even if we get through, there are cameras in the elevators and at reception…” 

“There are two stairwells,” Francesca explains. “This one is open to employees and guests with cameras at every turn. Then there’s the service stairwell at the back for moving things without destroying the clean, productive aesthetic or if your wife unexpectedly shows up for lunch and you need to sneak your whore out.” 

“Guess I missed that one when I researched building code and standards,” Kyle mutters, following her as she starts to climb up the stairs. 

“It’s a Curtis Properties signature,” Francesca says bitterly. “There aren’t any cameras in the service stairwell or the service elevators. You do need a keycard or the access code to open literally every door, though.” 

She leads him through an unlocked door and out into the brisk, fall air. The leaves have already started to turn golden brown and brittle. Soon neatly raked piles of leaves will line every front yard and then it’ll really start to get cold. If they’re really going to do this, they need to do it before winter hits and makes everything infinitely more difficult. 

Francesca walks right up to the edge of the building and rewards herself with a cigarette. Something about the way she navigates the space and the snuffed-out cigarette buds on the ground suggest this isn’t the first time she’s been up here after all. 

“Is this your spot or something?” Kyle asks. “You come to your father’s building to smoke and take in the sights?” 

“It isn’t the Empire State Building, but it is one of the tallest building around here. My father made sure of it. Him compensating, of course…” 

There aren’t any noticeable security cameras up here. A transparent skylight peers down into the bullpen of the top floor. Kyle takes note of the padlock on the skylight hatch. He thinks to mention this as a possible entrance and exit, but then he sees Francesca with her eyes closed, a burning cigarette between two fingers, feeling the sun on her skin. She’s so serene, beautiful, so much so he can’t bring himself to interrupt. Let her have her moment of peace. Trying to scrape together a plan in the next few weeks promises to be the exact opposite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Striker is a character from "Get Over It" played by Shane West and the accent he does in it is atrocious and I love it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	7. Spark & Trash

“What do you want me to say, Matt?”

He wants to hear that she still loves him. He wants Sandy to promise to love him even if they are living in different states and even if he doesn’t get into Maryland. He wants her to say she’s been faithful and will be faithful because she can’t imagine being with anyone else. He wants to feel like nothing has changed and laugh for being such an insecure dumbass. 

“Who answered your phone on Halloween?” Matty presses his phone into his ear so hard it hurts. “I called you around eight and some guy answered your phone…”

“Some guy?” Sandy suddenly sounds so far away (further away than she already is) when she shouts, “Did someone answer my phone on Halloween?” He doesn’t hear a reply and hates himself for suspecting it’s all a charade. “I don’t know, babe. It must’ve been one of the guys while I was getting ready with the girls.”

“One of what guys?”

“My friends, Matt. Or am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Sandy, that’s not what I’m saying…”

“I know. I know how you can get, but you should know you don’t have to worry.”

He wants to believe and trust her and put all of this stupid fear and doubt aside. He desperately wants that. And yet...

“Sandy, would you rather...take a break?” 

A lengthy pause follows and he knows he fucked up. 

“Why?” she asks and sounds...sad. “Did you meet someone new or something?”

“No!” Matty scoffs at the very idea. “In fucking Princeton, New Jersey? No way.”

“We met in Princeton, New Jersey.”

“We did…” Matty smiles to himself. “I was an innocent freshman and you were the experienced sophomore taking advantage—”

“Shut up, Matthew!”

He grins, loves it when she gets feisty. “We could be that again next year at Maryland. That’s what I want. Is that what you want? Still?” 

“I do.” And her words send his heart soaring, imagining her in a white dress, saying those exact words in front of the rabbi Matty threw up on when his brother got him drunk at his bar mitzvah. “But living so far apart, it isn’t easy. It doesn’t make it any easier when I call you and you don’t answer for a week…”

“That was my bad. Won’t happen again.” Matty swallows against his dry throat. “I’m going to drive my truck there with everything I own in the back and you’re going to show me around campus and I’m going to kiss you so hard in front of that statue on the brochure.” 

She giggles and he desperately wants to reach through the phone and touch her, just be with and near her. Distance is agony. 

“Okay, Matt. I’ll hold you to it.”

Hearing Sandy, _his_ Sandy say those words, makes him feel reenergized and ready to take any challenge head-on. “I gotta go, baby. Kyle’s been flirting with the class brain _and_ the scary goth chick with the web page.”

“Kyle Jamison cheating on his eight-year life plan? No way.”

“It’s happening and trust me, it’s painful to watch.” 

“Yes, please go rescue your boy.” 

“I love you, Sandy.”

“I love you too.” 

Talking to Sandy has always had a way of reorienting Matty and putting him back on the right track when he ever felt loss or stagnant. No wonder he’s been floundering without her. He feels refreshed and determined by the time he rejoins the “SAT group” but then he sees Kyle trying to flirt with Francesca as if subtly is a foreign concept and Roy tripping out at his own shadow. 

“What did I miss?” Matty asks. Reluctantly. 

“Everything,” Kyle answers. 

So he’s pissy. No big deal. It isn’t in Kyle’s nature to stay angry and hold grudges. The time Matty convinced Kyle to go into the girls’ bathroom to fill up water balloons at the park and a woman walked in and screamed. The time Matty peed in the community pool and blamed Kyle when Sandy swam by and asked why the water was so warm by them. The time Matty convinced Kyle to take a shortcut through Old Man Stan’s backyard and Kyle’s the one who got attacked by Old Man Stan’s hulking monster dog. The list goes on. 

Every time Matty got busted and dragged Kyle down with him throughout their lengthy friendship, Kyle would complain and act angry, but eventually forgive him. He always does. That’s just how their friendship works. Hopefully it stays that way especially through whatever happens next. 

“Look, talking to Sandy reminded me what’s at stake here. Nothing is going to stop me from going to Maryland next year and being with her. I’m all in.” Matty turns to Francesca and can’t help, but feel a little smug. “You were wrong, by the way.” 

“About?” she asks. 

“Sandy isn’t like what you said.” 

“Or so she says. How can you be so sure when you’re not there?” 

“It’s called trust,” Matty snaps. 

“Great, we’re all on the same page now.” Kyle steps in between them as if to physically shield her from him. Matty loves the guy, but his need to play hero for people they don’t even know will definitely be his downfall. “Francesca had an idea and I think—”

“Super great!” Roy interrupts. “We should discuss it over pancakes! I’m starving!” 

“Sure.” Kyle gives in. “We probably shouldn’t loiter.”

“Yeah, I gotta go,” Francesca says, “but good luck ironing out the details. I’m dying to hear what you three come up with when you put your heads together.” 

“Why does that sound like a diss?” Matty asks. Francesca doesn’t even give him an answer before turning on her heels and walking away. Rude. But that appears to be her M.O. “That was a diss.” 

“All girls are born with diss magic,” Roy explains, “and it only gets stronger when they’re battle tested by passive aggressive small talk, catfights and three way call attacks. Francesca Curtis is the grizzled, scar-faced fighter with a dark past of Girl World.” 

“Are you high right now?” Matty shakes his head and shakes his head even harder when he catches Kyle staring after the redhead as she gets into the unfairly cool car daddy probably bought her for her sweet sixteen. Maybe it’s time to put aside their squabble early and be a good friend. “C’mon, Kyle. You obsessing over a chick is the only thing worse than you obsessive over wood.”

Close enough. 

“Fine,” Kyle says. “Let’s go get something to eat.” 

Roy cheers and caws, flapping his arms all the way back to the truck. 

***

Roy points them to a retro steel-plated railcar diner with neon gold and Jersey blue signage that spells out “The SSR Diner est. 1940.” Locals sit elbow-to-elbow at the long counter that runs along one whole side. Booths with plush red seats line the other. Burgers sizzle on the flat-top grill as an oldie plays on the jukebox. 

“And that’s the plan.” Kyle admires his “plan” written out step-by-step on the back of a paper placemat. “Let’s think of it as in-depth recon, but if we get the chance to, make a copy of the answers, return them and run.” 

“And you think they’ll just let us in if we say we work in the mail room?” Matty asks. 

“Nope.” Roy pops the _p_. “Lucky thing I stumbled onto these bad boys…” He digs into his ratty backpack covered in pins of anime characters and pulls out a pile of button-up shirts and hats with Curtis Properties patches on them. “You get a uniform!” He tosses a shirt right at Matty’s face. “And you get a uniform!” Roy tosses Kyle his own set. “Boom! The Ghost strikes again!” 

“Do I even want to know how you got these?” Matty asks. 

Roy mimes zipping his lips. That’s a no. Matty happily eats his crinkle cut fries that are golden deliciousness, and leaves it at that. He kicks Kyle under the table instead. 

“You did ‘recon’ with Daria, right?” Matty asks. “Tell me you made sure she won’t write about us on her web page.”

“She won’t,” Kyle assures him between sips of coffee. 

“Kyle,” Matty says, “you didn’t even ask her, did you?”

“Matty, just trust me, okay? She won’t.”

“Dude, I trust _you_ ,” Matty says, “but your taste in girls is questionable at best. This is a hell of a way to pick up chicks, man.”

“Fine,” Kyle says. “That’s it. No more people. No more invites. Happy?”

“Very!” Roy rests his chin in his hand. “You two are super cute together.” 

“By the way, why would Striker ask you to take the SAT for him?” Matty wonders out loud more than anything. “No offense or anything.” 

“Because he needed a 1400 and The Ghost can deliver,” Roy replies. “And I would have gotten away with it too if…” He takes a big bite of his burger that has crispy bits of pork roll falling out the back. 

“Are you not going to finish that?” Matty asks. “You would have gotten away with it if…?”

“I’d rather not,” Roy mumbles with his mouth full. 

“Okay then,” Matty says. “We’re screwed. Absolutely. Totally. Screwed.”

***

After strong-arming Kyle into agreeing to drive tomorrow, Matty heads home. He tosses his book bag aside and wants to lounge in bed for a few hours before calling Sandy to say goodnight. That plan falls apart when he sees Dave sitting with his mom in the living room watching Jeopardy. 

“Dave, what are you doing here?” Matty asks. 

“Matty, David said you had a project to work on together,” his mother explains. “He’s been waiting all afternoon for you! You were running around with Kyle and lost track of time again, didn’t you?” 

“Just more SAT prep.” 

“You work too hard,” her mother scolds him. “Did you eat? David ate dinner with us, but there’s leftovers if you’re hungry.” 

“I already ate. Dave, we should probably get started on that project.”

“Right!” Dave shoots out of his chair. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Matthews.”

“You’re welcome, David! Don’t be a stranger!”

His bed will have to wait. They go down to the basement instead. 

“Dude, you ate dinner with my parents? What the hell?” Matty dives onto the old couch, sinking right between the cushion lumps. “If it’s really about homework, I can’t right now. I am dead on my feet. All I want to do is play Playstation and shoot stuff.” 

“What’s going on with Kyle and Francesca Curtis?” Dave blurts out. 

“Nothing good.” Seeing the nervous way Dave twiddles his thumbs and bobs his legs, Matty forces himself to go into damage control. Turning his brain off and playing video games until he passes out will also have to wait. “Why?”

“I saw them together at lunch. She touched his arm! And when I followed them—”

“You followed them?!”

“He was definitely flirting with her, that bastard and his oversized eyelashes,” Dave continues as if not hearing Matty at all, “but I couldn’t tell if she was into it or not. She’s kind of hard to read like that. They sat together all of lunch and she didn’t tell him to fuck off. They shared a sandwich! That has to mean something, right? I mean, he made her laugh. I’ve never seen her laugh before! Have you seen her laugh before?” 

Honestly, Francesca Curtis was never even on his radar. She’s too pretty to be approachable and the way she dresses and the aggressive, standoffish way she acts makes it pretty clear that she likes it that way. She’s supposed to be their way in and that’s it. Francesca seems to get that, refusing to join their theft ring bonding. Why can’t Kyle see that?

“Dave, you’ve known her for a while, right?”

“Um, I’ve been obsessed with her since like, sophomore year. I’m not ashamed to admit it! She was cute and all freshman year, but sophomore year!”

“Is she a trustworthy person?” 

Dave crinkles his face in confusion. “Who cares about that? She’s hot.” 

Matty sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. “What did I do to deserve all the idiots I had to deal with today?”

“Focus, Matty!” Dave nearly whines. “So, can you tell Kyle I had dibs?” 

Wholly over this conversation, over this entirely stupid day, Matty rolls onto the floor and crawls toward the TV stand to turn on his Playstation 2. “Have you ever thought that maybe the way you talk about girls has something to do with why none of them will talk to you?” 

“What? I’m a fairytale prince.” Dave grabs a gaming controller and sits right on the coffee table. So much for the nice, polite boy that had dinner with his parents. “Just promise you’ll talk to Kyle and I’ll shut up. It isn’t cool of him to just swoop in after all the work I put in.”

“Trust me, I’ve been talking to Kyle. Like hell he listens to me.” 

Matty opens the compartment beneath the television and jumps back when he sees an actual gun poking out from a pile of old magazines right next to his PS2. 

***

How the fuck did his life become _this_? 

That’s all Matty wants to know. One minute he’s just an ordinary guy in his last year of high school then it’s like he blinked and now he’s a nervous wreck in his last year of high school planning to steal the SAT and there’s a gun in his basement. It’s a good thing he discovered it before his mom went on one of her cleaning (snooping) binges and found it. His mom would definitely cry and faint. 

One of the things Matty and Kyle first bonded over was having big brothers who treated them like they were less than dirt. Jack is seven years older than Matty and resigned to his reality of working for their father’s septic business. They were never close. Jack often kept to himself, did his own thing, and they stopped talking entirely once he moved out. The gun has to belong to Jack. Why would he have a gun and why would he stash it in his parents’ basement? 

It’s too much for Matty to think about. Right now he needs to focus on not going to jail. 

“The mail room services the entire building,” Francesca explains, sliding a plastic keycard over the sensor on the inside of the service elevator and pressing the button for the top floor. She holds the door so Kyle and Matty can wheel large wagons of mail inside. “They hire a lot of guys straight out of high school and they never last long so they aren’t expected to even notice you. Just…” She watches them like they’re her new favorite reality TV show. “Act like you own the place.” 

“Yeah, easy for you to say.” Matty scoffs. “You actually do.”

Francesca’s cheeky smile is the last thing they see before the elevator doors close and the mission begins. Matty can’t help, but tug at his Curtis Properties shirt Roy lifted off of who-knows-where and Kyle is just as nervous judging by the way he keeps repositioning his Curtis Properties hat. 

“Cornell still worth it?” Matt asks. 

“Yeah.” Kyle doesn’t even hesitate with his answer. “Sandy?”

“Yeah.”

Matty and Kyle try to keep their heads low as they maneuver the heavy, clunky mail carts out of the elevator. There’s only one way to go, down a narrow hallway and they still have to pass the reception area to get to the bullpen. Damn it. 

The same woman with her hair pulled back in a tight updo spots them. Immediate red flags. They might as well have flashing neon lights above their heads that spell out, INTRUDERS! 

“Can I help you?” she asks. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! They’re so fucked! 

“These are the new mailroom hires. I’m training them, showing them their daily responsibilities.” Roy waltzes in with the smooth save, speaking in a voice that’s much more refined and proper. Though he might not sound like the weird stoner whose drama they got roped into in a bathroom, the shit-eating grin he flashes his fellow thieves is all Roy. “You losers forgot your badges! Let’s go! Pay attention!”

Roy marches them right past the reception desk and it’s a miracle that the woman doesn’t call security right on the spot. Matty frowns at the badge Roy gave him. “This is my student ID photo. The hell did you get my photo and how did you even make these? They look legit. I don’t want to know, do I?” 

“Roy, what are you even doing here?” Kyle hisses. 

“Besides saving your ass?” Roy actually giggles. “How many times do I have to tell you guys? I’m The Ghost, baby! And by the way, mail pickup is in the mornings.”

Realizing their mistake and how suspicious it’ll be if anyone else realizes, Matty and Kyle quickly dump the shirts and hats into the mail carts and ditch them in the nearest storage closet. No, now suspicious at all. This is off to a promising start. 

“Let’s split up and look around,” Kyle says, clipping his badge to his shirt. “Regroup back here in ten.” 

Roy happily goes off on his own and Kyle walks with purpose, pretending he knows what he’s doing, pretending he has everything under control. Matty goes in the opposite direction, meandering down the length of the dull, monochromatic office space. Everyone seems so busy, so eager to get from point A to point B that they don’t even give him a second glance. 

Matty tries to imagine what it might be like to work in a place like this. Everyone seems a little too dressed up to sit in a cubical all day, shuffling papers, making phone calls and sitting through meetings. It seems boring, but predictable can be comforting. It can’t hurt to have health insurance and a paycheck every two weeks. If he aims high and falls hard, defaulting to an office job doesn’t seem all that bad. 

“How about your Mets, huh?” An older man in a pinstripe suit (must be a damn Yankees fan) ribs a younger man who can’t be more than a year or two older than Matty. “How does it feel living in the basement of the NL East?” 

Water cooler talk! It’s everything Matty thought it’d be. Now that’s something he’d be good at! 

“Yeah, yeah, suffering’s in my blood,” the Mets fan grumbles. “Ben is a season ticket holder. Right behind home plate! I’ve been begging him to sell ‘em to me just once, I don’t care if they suck, but apparently he isn’t allowed to go with anyone, but the wife.” 

“No wonder he used to mess around with that little redhead. He’s too young to be married, but what the hell do I know. I think he’s too young to be that high up in the company…”

Little redhead? Matty’s brain short-circuits the way it would every time Sandy and her friends would gossip and he’d secretly listen in and tell Kyle and Dave after. Matty inches forward and listens closer. 

“Did you hear she’s still coming around the building and security can’t do shit ‘cause her father owns the building? What if his wife stops by one day and they run into each other?” 

“If you ask me, that’s just karma for being a Mets fan.” 

When the two grown men gossiping like bored cheerleaders in gym class notice Matty lingering, he tries to play it off by reaching for a pastry on a tray near the water cooler and stuffs it into his mouth. Matty walks away, his mind reeling from what he just heard. 

Who the hell is this Ben guy? Were they talking about Francesca or does she have an older sister who’s also a redhead? Is Ben in one of these offices? Are there nameplates on the outside of the offices? Could he catch a sneak of this Ben guy? How old is he exactly? Lost in thought, Matty isn’t prepared whatsoever when someone grabs him from behind and yanks him into a room. 

“I-I’m from the mailroom, I swear!” Matty shouts, nearly dropping his danish. 

“Relax, it’s just me,” Kyle whispers. “Are you seriously eating right now? Where’d you even get that?”

“I’m supposed to blend in, right? I’m blending.” Matty tries to act casual even though his insides are screaming, _the girl you’re entirely too friendly with is The Other Woman!_

Kyle holds up a stack of papers with a big grin and when Matty sees S-A-T on the first page, the danish slips out of his hand and hits the floor. 

“Oh, thank you!” Matty glances up at the ceiling and whatever higher power is listening right now. “Pocket it and let’s bail.”

“No. If we take it, they might get suspicious. They could change it by the next testing date.” 

They take in their surroundings, all of the bulky copy machines, and in unison declare, “Copy it.” 

Grinning like a man whose dreams are all about to come true, Kyle feeds the stack of papers into the nearest copy machine. With the press of a button, the machine sucks the papers in and spits them out in shreds. Kyle puts his hands up, dazed, as if he just got hit in the head by a line-drive. Sucking bits of pastry from between his teeth, Matty reaches into the box and lifts their golden ticket that’s been reduced to ribbons. 

***

“Septic and toilets,” Matty mutters, staring up at the big, shiny building that served them their first defeat. “S-A-T.”

“I had the answers in my hands.” Kyle groans, holding up his cursed, disgraceful hands. “We were so close. I can’t believe…” 

“It was a dumbass move,” Matty says, “but I doubt my dumb ass could’ve done better.” 

“Thanks,” Kyle says sarcastically. “That doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“Oh well,” Roy sighs loudly, “back to the drawing board and the diner!” 

“This was a spectacular waste of my time.” Francesca doesn’t sound particularly surprised. She doesn’t sound upset either, like she wasn’t invested and didn’t think they’d be able to pull it off from the start. 

“Wait, Francesca,” Kyle calls out after her. “You don’t wanna commiserate with us? They’ve got cherry pie if that’s your thing.”

She touches the cherry charm hanging from her necklace and twists it between her fingers. Of course he’s observant like that. He’s Kyle. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she says. “I have better things to do. I’m out.” 

For the second time, Kyle watches the girl drive away without even a glance back and he seems even more dejected. What did he expect? She probably only helped them so she could watch them fail from a safe distance. 

“Forget her, man,” Matty says. “Let’s get pancake-wasted.” 

“Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Roy cheers. “Did you guys meet Miss Anne Clark back there? She was _super_ sweet…” 

Oh well. They gave it a shot and no one got arrested. That’s one good thing. 

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to go to Maryland. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to live that idyllic college life they do on Sandy’s favorite WB dramas. Maybe the responsible thing to do would be to start training himself to get used to the idea of joining his older brother. Ever since his father decided to name the business Matthews and Son _s_ Septic, his fate was sealed. 

Once they arrive at the diner with the good crinkle-cut fries, Anna Ross and Desmond Rhodes are waiting. Anna offers Kyle a smile and if that doesn’t bring up his mood, nothing will. 

“Hi,” Anna says. “Desmond and I talked things over and...we want in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind's eye, Elisabeth Harnois, the Indie Queen of '07/'08 plays Sandy. Her and Bryan Greenberg were both on "One Tree Hill" (again, Fuck Mark Schwahn!). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	8. Superstars & Teamwork

Desmond Rhodes might be what some people would call a mama’s boy. 

Well, fuck some people because he loves his mama. 

Working three jobs to support and raise her two boys on her own, Roxanne Rhodes is the definition of resilience. She hid her troubles well even when they were evicted from their one-bedroom apartment in the Bronx and had to relocate to New Jersey. Even when they had nothing, when she explained that the rules of the world were different for them as young, Black men, Roxanne encouraged her boys to dream. 

Desmond has a vision for the future that includes mansions, sports cars and shoe deals. Mostly, he wants a reality where his mom doesn’t have to work, can pursue her passion, go back to school or start her own catering business opposed to chasing money to make end’s meet. She’ll never have to worry about bills or paying for his and Keyon’s schooling. Keyon will be able to do whatever he wants. Desmond has a clear vision for the future and it begins with basketball. 

He always admired NBA players growing up. He coveted Jordan’s killer instinct, Magic’s otherworldly passing and Dr. J’s sustained excellence. He has always been on the quiet side, but when he’s on the court with the ball in his hands, his competitive spirit takes over. God bless whoever dares to stand between him and the basket. When he’s on the court, he feels most like himself and closest to the person he wants to be. When he stood six feet tall in the seventh grade, no one in the youth league had a chance at stopping him, Desmond started dreaming and calculating. 

In the 2003 NBA Draft, LeBron James was chosen #1 overall in the first round straight out of high school. One of the most anticipated picks in the history of the sport, he signed a three-year rookie contract with the Cleveland Cavaliers, pocketing a first year salary of $3,215,200. Comparatively, the #10 overall pick signed a rookie contract with a first year salary of $1,399,000, still respectable and more money than Desmond has ever seen in his life. If he were to declare for the NBA draft right now, he’d be a top ten pick. Fact. 

He did his research. He crunched the numbers. He has a vision for the future and though he knows money can’t fix everything, it would make life a lot more comfortable for his family and as the man of the house, they’re his priority. It’s too bad his mom doesn’t see it like that. 

Roxanne shouldn’t be on her feet on her day off preparing a feast even if it is for Coach Mike from St. John’s University. Even though she works more hours in a week than she spends with her sons or even sleeps, she always makes it a point to make sure they get their three meals a day. Hearty, but simple and flavorful meals. She’s gone above and beyond for the college recruiter. 

“Why are you pulling out all the stops for Coach Mike?” Desmond reaches for a fried plantain and receives a swift smack on the back of his hand. “Mama! These are the moneymakers!” She clicks her tongue, but smiles as she stirs a big boiling pot. “If he’s making house visits, I’m as good as in.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put your best foot forward at every opportunity. Now, go make sure your brother is dressed appropriately and get him to help you set the table.” 

Desmond doesn’t argue or grumble or talk back. His mom has it in her head that the best course of action is for him to go to college on a sports scholarship. To her, basketball is a stepping stone to a proper education. She raised her boys to dream, but also to be practical. 

Coach Mike arrives with flowers and a magazine with Desmond on the cover. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Desmond admires himself on the glossy pages. It’s surreal. His face is about to be on newsstands and in homes nation-wide.

Coach Mike gives him a pat on the shoulder. “And it’s well-deserved too.” 

“I dunno. I think I’d look better in Philadelphia 76ers red y’know.” 

“In the long run,” Roxanne adds sharply. 

Desmond doesn’t say anything. He knows better, especially in front of polite company. 

“Awkward,” Keyon sing-songs. Like the smartass little shit he is. 

“What about you, young man?” Coach Mike asks his younger brother. “You play ball?” 

“Nope,” the fifth grader answers. “I’m going to cure cancer.” 

Their mom beams with pride at Keyon’s answer. Desmond barely stops himself from gagging. And Anna calls _him_ a mama’s boy? Keyon’s such a damn suck-up, but he’s genuine about it and it makes their mom happy so Desmond keeps his mouth shut. Most of the time. 

“Des, I want you to come to St. John’s,” Coach Mike begins his pitch after a delicious meal. “The fact of the matter is your game is not ready to go pro just yet, but it will be. We’ll refine your fundamentals, you can get a taste of real, NCAA-level competition and I’ll do everything in my power to get you to the NBA. But if not, if later down the road, you decide on something else, at least you’ll have a degree and be prepared for a life after basketball.”

Roxanne nods along. “Mhmm. That’s what _I’m_ talking about.”

Desmond sinks a little deeper into his seat. His mom makes the best banana fritters in the world and all this talk, deciding his future for him, is really souring it for him. 

“So where do we go from here, coach?” Roxanne asks. 

“Your grade point average is low,” Coach Mike says, “but we can work with that. You’ve done everything you can athletically. Now you just need a 900 or better on the SAT.”

900 or better. As if it’s that easy. 

Hearing this, Desmond loses his appetite completely. 

***

“I’d tell you a 900 is doable, but I got a straight zero so I should not be giving SAT advice.” 

Desmond groans into a plastic menu, sitting across from Anna at a local pizzeria. Prestolani’s. Anna chose it. He’s never been anywhere close to Italy, but the rustic mural on the wall gives him the feeling of being at a little family-owned restaurant with a lot of history behind it. If his mom ever got a brick and mortar, he’d want it to be homey, but tell the story of his mom’s family and their love of food too.

He gazes over at Anna who inspects the menu. “How can you be so calm right now? No offense, you did worse than me and I was convinced some of the words in the verbal section were straight-up made up.”

“It happened. I got yelled at. Nothing can change that so there’s nothing to do about it.” Anna flips over the menu. “Have you ever tried an Italian soda?”

“Isn’t that shit like Sprite and heavy cream?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.” Gina walks up to their table wearing a Prestolani’s t-shirt, white apron and a million watt smile. “Wow, you know, I don’t think I’ve seen either of you in here before.”

“Yeah, we needed a change of scenery from the library,” Anna says. “So your family owns and runs this place?”

“Yup. My dad calls the restaurant his third child.” Gina rolls her eyes, but there’s affection in her tone. Desmond can’t relate. “Can I get you started with drinks?”

“I’m good with water,” Desmond says. “Thanks.”

“I’m feeling adventurous,” Anna says. “I’ll try an Italian cream soda. Whatever flavor you suggest. Surprise me.”

“Excellent.” Gina scribbles down their drink order. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

“I didn’t know you two know each other,” Desmond says once Gina’s out of earshot.

“We don’t. I mean, how much do you know the kids in the same clubs as you?”

Desmond would say he knows his teammates on the basketball team well. He even considers some of them friends, but it’s easy enough to weed out those who only care about what being near Desmond Rhodes Superstar (man, that’s annoying) can do for them and those who are jealous of his gifts and talent.

“Okay, where should we start?” Anna brings out a stack of SAT practice booklets. Desmond wants to bang his head against the table, but refrains. He has more self-control than some might think by just looking at him.

“Can’t it wait until after we eat?” Desmond asks. “What’s doing more of that practice stuff really going to do for us if the exact same questions aren’t going to be on the test? If you’re only doing it for my benefit, can we skip it all together? It’s not like you need it. SAT stage fright and just being plain ol’ test stupid like me are two different problems practice tests can’t fix.” 

“You are not stupid,” Anna says. “Why would you say that about yourself?” 

“Uh, because it’s the truth. There’s no changing that and I’ve accepted it. If everyone is good and bad at different things, how do colleges expect us all to score high on the same test? It’s bullshit.”

“Maybe,” Anna says. “But that’s the way things are.” 

“It wouldn’t be if my mom would just let me declare for the draft like I want.” 

“You can’t be mad at her for wanting you to get a degree especially if the school is going to pay for it. And how is she supposed to know what you want if you don’t talk to her about it? Your mom is awesome, but she isn’t psychic, Des.”

“That’s debatable and how come you always take her side over mine?” Desmond gently kicks the side of Anna’s foot beneath the table.

“Even if she isn’t psychic, your mom is always right.”

“Point.” Desmond stretches his long, muscular arms up over his head. “What am I gonna do? I am all studied out. If I study any more, my head is gonna explode and I’m not sure a change of scenery is doing much.” 

“Well, if you don’t want to study, I have these for you.” Anna opens a folder and pulls out a stack of photographs. Desmond rubs his hands together, eager to see what she caught. It isn’t that he’s in love with his own reflection or anything, but Anna always has a way of capturing him at his most intense and gravity-defying. 

“I got a plan,” Desmond says. “We both say fuck college, I go into the NBA and you can be my personal court-side photographer. I refuse to be photographed by anyone else and when you’re top ten in the draft, you can make demands like that. Sports pubs would pay good money for these. They make my magazine cover look lame.” 

“As fun as that sounds, I can’t ride your coattails for the rest of my life…” Anna’s voice drifts off along with her thoughts. She’s always been grounded. Normally, she’s the one trying to pull his head out of the clouds. And he has no clue what to do with this role reversal. “Do you know the term stereotype vulnerability? It means that some students do badly on the SAT because they know they’re expected to.”

“Wouldn’t it be the reverse for you then? Everyone thinks oh, she’s Anna Ross, class brain, she crushed the regular season, she should get that ring easy, but playoff exams? It’s different. The stakes are higher and there’s all the pressure to be great. Anyone who doesn’t get it just isn’t looking close enough.”

“Did you turn my crappy situation into a basketball analogy?”

“Hey, if the verbal section of the SAT was all basketball analogies then I might have a chance,” Desmond says. “At least when you mess up on the SAT, there isn’t a national announcement about it. For me, if I can’t get at least a 900, I gotta read about it in USA Today.” He sweeps his hand across the air, imagining the headline. “‘Desmond Rhodes Dumbass.’”

“You are not! Stop doing that!” Anna slaps his arm and it’s nice to see her break from the fog that’s been hanging around her since she took the SAT. He’d take a million smacks on the arm (that are weak at best) if it means she’ll snap out of this funk already. “There’s more to you than your SAT score. St. John’s has seen your talent in person and they already want you. You’ll be alright, Des.”

“I wanna believe that. I did believe that for most of my life when teachers would let me slide on homework and tests just ‘cause I’m good at basketball.” Desmond isn’t stupid or ignorant about how he’s made his way through the world, just quiet, until now. “I’m not saying it’s their fault. I took whatever I could get. Maybe it’s karma or something that I’m finally up against this one thing that’s holding me back right when it’s started to mean more to me…” 

Anna gets that faraway look on her face, one that’s becoming much too common for his liking. He gives her a moment to herself and continues to thumb through the photos, whistling when he comes across a handful that aren’t of him. 

“Um, I don’t think these were meant for me…” Desmond holds up the photos of the cheerleading squad and a few of just Gina Prestolani. Anna goes into a frenzy, throwing herself across the table in her haste to snatch the photos back. “Anna! What the hell?”

“Those are—I just—” Anna hugs the photos close to her chest, protective, embarrassed.

“Oh,” Desmond says, desperately wanting to make this less so for her. He isn’t even sure why this is so embarrassing for her.

“I got your water and one Italian cream soda. We call it tiger’s blood. It’s strawberry and coconut.” The subject of a lot of those photos sets down their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

Anna can’t bring herself to speak, frozen in her seat, hugging the photos to her chest so Desmond orders a supreme pie for them to share.

“Wow, these photos are awesome.” Gina looks over the pictures of Desmond spread out across the table. “Seriously, Anna, you’re ridiculously talented.”

“I-I—thanks.”

“Well, I’ll put your order in and it should be right out,” Gina says. “If you need anything or have any questions, just yell for me. Loud is definitely a Prestolani's staple.”

“Thanks, Gina.” Desmond watches their waitress walk toward the pick-up window. At least she didn’t see _the_ pictures. That would have made things even more awkward. “So, uh, those pictures for the yearbook too?” 

“Yeah, they’re for the yearbook,” Anna says quickly. Her fingers relax before doing any permanent damage to the photos. “The lighting was weirdly good a-and the composition was too perfect and Gina’s always dead center in their formations. The cheer squad always wants a whole page to themselves, but they can’t be mad about just a few high-quality shots...” 

She’s jittery and rambly in a way he hasn’t seen before, but he doesn’t question it. “You’re an artist, A. You can’t help what catches your eye. I am a little disappointed though. And here I thought I was your only muse.”

Anna laughs weakly and smacks his arm again. “Desmond, you’re a dumbass.” 

“Hey, Desmond Rhodes! ‘Sup!” Carlo Delrio, small forward on the basketball team and Gina’s boyfriend, walks up to them wearing the same t-shirt as his girlfriend and a matching apron. He reaches out as if to clasp hands with Desmond, but pauses, realizing he’s covered in flour. “Man, I saw your magazine cover! How cool is that? I can’t wait to tell people I played ball on the same team as Desmond Rhodes!”

“Thanks,” Desmond says.

“Would you mind autographing it so we can hang it here in the restaurant, score me some points with the boss and maybe the boss’ daughter?” Carlo asks, wiggling his eyebrows, doing way too much. “They’re slowly warming to the idea of naming a speciality pie after you. I’m workin’ on it.”

“Sure, but not the magazine cover.” Desmond sifts through the photos on the table and picks out one of him hanging off the rim after a dunk. “I’ll only autograph an Anna Ross original.”

“Sure thing, man, whatever you say,” Carlo says, watching Desmond autograph and date the photo. “Yeah, these are cool. My girl’s into photography and stuff too…”

“I know,” Anna says. “Her work is great too.”

“Thanks for this, Des. I owe you one. Don’t forget the little people when you’re famous!” Carlo continues to smile at them from over his shoulder even as he takes his prize back to the kitchen.

“Better get used to that.” Anna takes a sip of the Italian cream soda and makes a sour face.

Desmond laughs. “Hey. A cute girl made it for you so you have to drink it all. That’s the rule. It’s straight-up Sprite, heavy cream and artificial flavoring, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

“It’s not bad-tasting,” Anna insists. She takes another sip and her reaction is milder. “Just not what I was expecting.”

“That’s what you get for being ‘adventurous,’” he teases. “So what toppings should go on The Desmond Rhodes, you think?”

“Hot sauce,” they say in unison, both laughing, the awkwardness from before forgotten.

She knows him. Maybe better than his family and his friends on the basketball team even. She knows him so he should at least return the favor, be the person she can confide in and lean on, who knows her and accepts her in return.

“Hey Des,” Anna whispers. “I have an idea and I already know you’re going to tell me it’s crazy, but keep an open mind. I might know some guys who can help us with our SAT troubles.”

“Yeah? Who?” 

***

That’s how they end up waiting at the SSR Diner the next afternoon. 

Desmond’s leg bounces beneath the table while Anna helps Keyon with his homework on the other side of the booth. His little brother’s enormous crush on Anna is so obvious and entertaining, but Desmond’s too nervous to enjoy the whiz kid playing dumb so his dream girl will help him with long division he could easily do on his own. 

The cowbell on the front door jingles and Anna loses interest in math altogether. That must be them. The three boys who walk into the diner seem familiar like he’s probably seen them around school, in the hallways and at class assemblies, but Desmond can’t place their names. They don’t look like criminal masterminds and he’s pretty sure the Asian guy is stoned out of his mind. 

“Them three stooges, A?” Desmond asks. “They’re going to help us—” Her eyes widen in warning and she tilts her chin in Keyon’s direction. Luckily, he’s busy doing mental calculations and writing out his work. “—with the SAT?”

“Let’s just see what they have planned,” Anna says. “We have to at least try.”

Desperation and trust in Anna has Desmond following her to a table where the boys are eager to order. The same blonde punk who was hitting on Anna after the basketball game stands up as they approach and pulls a chair out for her. He grabs another chair and drags it over to their table, presumably for Desmond. At least one of the criminals has manners. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us,” Anna says after a round of awkward introductions. 

“ _Us_?” Matty scoffs. “What happened to her not telling anyone, Kyle? And she told Mr. Superstar!” 

Desmond’s right about to snap at this fool for talking about them, but especially Anna like they aren’t sitting right here. Anna beats him to it and counters with, “Would you rather I told Mr. Dooling?” 

Damn. The guy with the bowl-cut looks like he might have shit himself. 

Anna’s a star. You don’t mess with the debate team. That’s a no-brainer.

“Desmond is the only person I told and we both want in,” Anna continues. “If it’s money you want, we can pay you.” 

Roy practically purrs. “Yes please!” 

“No,” Kyle cuts him off. “No one is paying anyone.” 

“What happened to going to the NBA?” Matty asks. “Last I checked, you don’t need to take the SAT for that.” 

“Nah, man,” Roy answers before Desmond could tell him to mind his own damn business. “He’s not strong enough to be a 4, not quick enough to be a 3. Besides, he’s got no left hand and his mid-range game needs work. I don’t see it.” 

“He has a spot at St. John’s waiting,” Anna says defensively. “Pending SAT score…”

“This isn’t going to work,” Matty decides. “Sorry, superstar, but you’re way too high profile and we already said no more people.”

“It is a little confusing that you want to keep this quiet, but told Francesca Curtis, who puts everyone’s business on the internet except her own,” Anna points out. “You’re afraid _we_ aren’t trustworthy? How do you know she isn’t collecting info for a huge exposé on the biggest SAT cheating scandal the world has ever seen?”

Damn. She does it again! Anna can be downright terrifying in her element. Desmond loves watching her work. It’s as exciting as any NBA final game seven he’s ever seen. 

“She has a point, Kyle,” Matty says, quick to change his tune. 

“Look, no one’s going to rat on anyone because we all want the same thing and we're all willing to risk everything to get it,” Kyle says firmly. “I trust Francesca. I trust you, Anna, and if you say Desmond needs it as much as the rest of us, I believe you.”

“If we’re gonna do this, we need to be a team,” Desmond says, and doesn’t miss Matty rolling his eyes. The hell is that dude’s problem? “I’m game. Hundred-percent. I’m in and you know I won’t talk. If this gets out, I’ll be a national embarrassment and I can kiss any shot at the NBA, hell, any shot at a future goodbye. I got too much riding on all of this to mess around.”

“We all do,” Matty sneers. 

“What’s your problem with me?” Desmond calls him out. 

“My problem—”

“Guys,” Kyle says, trying to break it up. “Matty, seriously, chill out.” 

“I don’t know any of you, but I know Desmond,” Anna says. “I’m not going to jeopardize his future. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t serious.”

“Okay.” Kyle tries to smile. “Welcome to the team, but this has to be it. No one else. We can at least agree on that much, right?”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that we’re out of a plan,” Matty says. 

“Not necessarily,” Kyle disagrees. “I have an idea, but for it to work, we need Francesca’s help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you see why I love Desmond & Anna??? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	9. Show & Tell

Francesca watches from the banister as the hired party planner barks orders at underpaid worker bees dressed in white button-downs and blush pink bow ties. They’ve been here since before noon transforming the cold, impersonal Curtis mansion into an extravagant party worthy of the 1%. She hasn’t decided if she’s going to swipe a bottle of champagne, lock herself in her room and listen to music loud enough to piss off her father or spend the evening embarrassing him in front of his stuffy corporate buddies. 

“My beautiful daughter, you aren’t wearing _that_ to my party, are you?” 

Massimo Curtis could have been handsome back in his prime, before the male pattern baldness caught up to him, the regular alcohol consumption accumulated in his gut and, oh, selling his soul to the devil in exchange for the life of the rich ignoramus. Now he’s just a sad man without a paternal bone in his body stuffed into a suit that costs more than the average family’s monthly income. 

“I wasn’t aware I was invited,” she replies curtly, like a Curtis.

“When has that ever stopped you, Francesca?” He sounds tired, dejected, but she can’t find it within herself to feel bad for him. 

“Has your escort arrived yet?” Francesca makes a show of leaning over the banister and searching. “How embarrassing would it be for you if she showed up and we were wearing the same skimpy dress?” 

“I hear you’ve been going to my building again.”

There it is. He doesn’t care about her, just how she makes him look. 

“Were you bothering Ben again? He’s the guest of honor tonight and if you’d feel more comfortable going out with your friends…” He reaches for his wallet because there’s never been a problem Massimo Curtis can’t fix with dollar signs. 

“Did your spies tell you my boyfriend was with me?” Francesca asks, not wanting to hear the rest of what he has to say, or anything he has to say ever. “Future architect major. He likes buildings.”

“Boyfriend? And he’s your age?” 

She inwardly cringes. What a fucking asshole. 

“A whole three and a half months older than me,” Francesca replies. 

“Great. Invited him tonight. I look forward to meeting him. Unless you’re just spinning a story instead of telling me the real reason you keep going back there…” 

Francesca rises to his challenge. She always has, even as a small child. Before, he would laugh and clap his hands, proud she inherited his ruthlessness, his competitive nature and cutting way with words. Now he just seems sick of her. 

“He’ll be here,” Francesca says. “His name’s Kyle.” 

Fuck. 

What did she just get herself into? 

Francesca throws herself onto her bed and screams into a pillow. She allows herself that much before hunting for her phone and calling Kyle. Forget that she’s been ignoring him and his last few emails (all with impeccable grammar, she noticed), two text messages and one voicemail he left her.

She did listen to the voicemail (an embarrassing amount of times). Something about the timbre of his voice, the anxiety and desperation when he says he needs to speak with her…it’s something to listen to when she takes a break from staring at her laptop in the dark at night. 

Kyle Jamison isn’t hard to look at and weirdly sweet to her face, but he isn’t her type _at all_. He’s so clean-cut and too nice to even bring up the fact that she’s been ignoring and avoiding him.

“Francesca! I’ve emailed you like five times!”

Or maybe he’ll blurt it out before even saying hello. 

“Yeah, I got the message,” she says. “You want to meet and we should. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” 

Francesca bites her bottom lip and pulls the trigger. “Remember that favor you're contractually obligated to owe me? My father’s having this party whatever at my house.”

“That’s perfect!” 

Perfect?

“Don’t you want to hear the favor first?” she asks.

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Text me your address and how nice is this party anyway?” 

Kyle shows up wearing a blue dress shirt that fits extremely well unlike his pants and plain leather dress shoes that look right out of the box. At least he didn’t show up wearing khaki. He isn’t super skinny like a lot of tall guys are, like she had originally assumed. He surprises her in ways she never expected. She’s about to put him through the headfuck gauntlet and he doesn’t even suspect it.

He assesses her in a similar way, taking in the dark purple of her dress, the red of her lips, the scandalous amount of skin intentionally on display for the eyes to feast on. It isn’t lecherous or creepy, even though that’s what she expects from men, certainly friends of her father’s who tell her all about how her looks have certainly surpassed her mother’s. Gross. Kyle looks at her in this soft, awestruck sort of way. This dork.

“Wow, you’re dressed exactly like the waiters,” Francesca says. “It’s uncanny.” 

Kyle rests his hands on his narrow waist and hangs his head. “My mom told me to wear a tie before I left the house and I said, ‘no, ma, I don’t wanna be the only idiot at the party wearing a tie.’ Should’ve listened to mom.” 

“I was joking. You look more like the MC.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot, Francesca. You know, I was going to tell you how beautiful you look, but nah. Forget it.”

She rolls her eyes, but feels her traitorous lips tug to one side. He has that effect on her and she hasn’t quite figured out why that is when he’s just so...average. She can’t quite figure out why she catches herself thinking about him so much either.

Francesca snatches up his hand that’s so much larger than hers and firm like he works with them a lot. She tugs him inside and proceeds to give him a quick tour of the ground floor. It’s easy to be overwhelmed with the amount of snobby guests mingling, wearing their best, and the waitstaff weaving through rooms with large trays of tiny finger food. A concert pianist provides the background music to set the elegant yet incredibly dull scene. 

Between marveling at the light sculptures her father paid an interior decorator to artfully display and eating shrimp cocktail pastry cups, Kyle leans in so close she can feel the warmth of his breath as he talks about his newest plan that requires the blueprints to her father’s building. Of course. That explains why he wanted to meet.

“My father’s a hoarder. He keeps everything. I bet there’s a copy in his office.” She feels eyes on her and reaches up to straighten Kyle’s collar and smooth out the wrinkles from his shirt. “Speaking of Faust himself...”

“Francesca! This must be the boyfriend!” Her father lumbers over with a glass of whiskey in one hand and his other arm around a woman half his age. She’s a new one. No surprise there. “Kyle, right? The future architect. Five year plan?” 

“Well,” Kyle starts, “five year accredited undergrad, three year internship, and an extra year to prepare to take the ARE. So it’s more an eight to eleven year plan to be a licensed architect.”

Her father chuckles and all of the people around them join him, a reflexive response to prop up his ego. Barf. “You’re a planner. That’s good, especially for someone so young.” He smacks Kyle on the back. Hard. “Well, Kyle, I own a shit ton of buildings. Maybe you could design a few of ‘em for me in the future. Keep it in the family, huh? As long as you take care of my daughter and keep her happy of course.” 

“Bribery,” Francesca says flatly. “Nice.” 

“Not bribery, darling. _Incentive_.” 

“And what are you planning on studying?” the bubbly escort asks Francesca. No one is more surprised than her father that his date would think to try to make small talk. 

“Journalism,” Francesca answers. “Investigative journalism. I’m most interested in exposing corporate greed’s assault on human rights.” 

Mr. Curtis laughs again and it’s echoed by his guests once again, but sounds hollow, maybe a little nervous as if half the room is guilty of exactly that. “And law school after undergrad I hope. Future senior law consultant of Curtis Properties. She’d make a terrifying attorney, wouldn’t she, Kyle? Work on her for me, will ya, son?”

 _Son_. 

He called a boy he had just met _son_ of all things. If the goal of tonight was to piss off her father, Maryland Matty with the floppy hair and future in plumbing would have been a much more effective choice. 

“Look who’s here. Ben! Ben, let me introduce you to my daughter’s boyfriend!”

 _Why? Why would he do this to me?_ Something Francesca finds herself asking about every man who’s ever come into her life.

Ben Gunders is one of them. He’s wearing a full fucking tuxedo as he glides across the marble floor, acknowledging other self-important men on his way. His fingers are interlocked with that of his high school sweetheart. The additional lighting the party planner insisted on to “enhance the mood” gleams off of their matching wedding bands. He hadn’t been wearing a ring the first time Francesca met him. Not that that would have stopped her at the time. Stupid. 

“Kyle, this is Ben Gunders, the youngest project manager at my company. I remember when Ben was fresh out of college, working as an assistant, and now look at him. Keep your eye on the prize and it’ll all work out for you too.”

“That’s too kind of you, sir,” Ben says. “Francesca, nice to see you. It’s been a while.” 

She refuses to look anywhere near that bastard and his shimmering eyes, the bluest she’d ever seen. It startles her when she feels a hand on the back of her arm right above her elbow. Kyle’s gaze is just as warm and as grounding as his touch. She was wrong about Ben. Kyle’s eyes are bluer.

Kyle shakes Ben’s hand and smiles as he introduces his wife. Janine Gunders has long dark hair, high cheekbones and cat-like eyes. She was probably popular and had an easy time in high school. Francesca doesn’t know this for sure. All she really knows about Janine is how much she hates catching Ben smoking after he keeps promising her he’ll quit. He makes a lot of empty promises.

“Ben and I have been together since high school.” Janine looks at her husband with such adoration it makes Francesca feel sick. “How long have you two been dating?” 

“Not long,” Kyle replies, playing along, giving her arm a supportive squeeze. He really is too nice. “We’ve been in the same class for years, but didn’t really realize how well we work until we started doing SAT prep. It’s been great. At least, to me.”

Turns out he’s a better liar than she thought.

“Love can be like that,” Janine says dreamily. “Just in your life even if you don’t notice and then one day you notice and it changes everything.”

Okay, now she _really_ feels sick.

“Are you going to discuss my dowry now or can we go and act like this conversation never happened?” Francesca cuts in. She can’t take any more. She really can’t.

“It was nice meeting you, all of you,” Kyle says politely. 

“You too, son,” her father says. “Francesca, this one’s a keeper.”

She wants to scream. 

With his hand still on the back of her arm, Kyle gently guides her away. Her high-heels clank against the cold, marble floor and she doesn’t care if they find her petulant and childish. A spoiled little princess who has everything a sixteen-year-old could ever ask for so what right does she have to be ungrateful and impolite? To feel the way she does? 

“Francesca…” Kyle sounds so uncertain, but it isn’t like she has the energy to babysit him right now. He follows her to the top of the staircase where she pauses to peer over the banister and watch her father continue to play perfect host. It’s like she no longer exists to him. 

She would probably slam her bedroom door with all of her strength if Kyle wasn’t right on her heels. Instead, she kicks her heels off and frantically searches for the pack of cigarettes she left somewhere. 

“That bad, huh?” Kyle asks. 

Francesca laughs bitterly, shoving her window open and sitting in the little reading nook with her legs tucked under her. “My father? No.” Kyle swipes the “B” lighter off the corner of her desk and hands it to her. “Whatever. Poor little rich girl thing’s a little played out, don’t you think? It’s like the oldest story in the world, right?” 

“Not if it’s your story.”

Her hands still before she manages to light her cigarette because he’s looking at her in that _way_ again. What _is_ that? Other than confusing. It isn’t pity, more like understanding born out of kindness, which is weird and something she isn’t used to especially from men. Francesca has to duck her head and play with her hair a little when she realizes the moment stretched on too long, when she realizes the moment feels... Her laughter shakes, sounds nervous, flustered. She hates it. 

“Okay, new plan,” Kyle says. “I’ll give you a minute and when you’re ready, we nab the blueprints and go get dessert. I know a place with the best cherry pie in Jersey.” 

It’s the second time he suggested cherry pie. Because of her necklace? She reaches up to fiddle with it, a nervous habit if she’s ever had one. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’s that observant with everyone though the thought that he pays such close attention to her specifically leaves goosebumps all up and down her arms. She'd blame the cold weather and open window, not that he'd judge or ever ask if he noticed. 

Francesca exhales loudly. “There better be ice cream too.” 

“I’m sure they’ll have ice cream too. I’ll just...I’ll be outside. Whenever you’re ready…” 

“Stay,” Francesca says, before she even realizes that’s what she wants. Kyle gives her an achingly sweet smile before taking a little tour around her bedroom, paying special attention to her bookshelves and the pile of books on her nightstand. “If you’re looking for the ouija board, whips and chains, I keep them in the closet.” 

“Your room is nice.” He runs his fingers over the yellow spines of her extensive Nancy Drew collection she started once she was old enough to read chapter books. “A lot more sunset tones. Your feminist literature lives up to expectations.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re nerdier than I would have guessed.”

But just as nice as expected. At least, so far. 

Kyle has every right to be upset after she dragged him into her parental drama without so much as a heads-up. Even though they had a pre-established contract, she didn’t take his feelings into consideration and that’s shitty of her. 

“Listen,” Francesca says before she loses her nerve, “I shouldn’t have dragged you into all of that bullshit with my father.”

He waves off her apology. “We had a deal and you’ve been a big help so far. Being your fake boyfriend isn’t the worst thing I could be doing on a Saturday night. Far from it. What are friends for, right?” 

“Is that what we are?” she asks. 

“We could be...if you want.” 

Francesca Curtis doesn’t have friends. She has informants and anonymous sources and classmates who buy into their assumptions of her and stay out of her way. That’s exactly how she likes it. High school is transient. It’s a pitstop on the road to living an independent life far, far away from her shitty family. So why does this quiet moment with Kyle Jamison feel so weirdly monumental? 

When she hears another burst of laughter from downstairs, Francesca gets up and grabs her leather jacket, shoving her cigarettes and lighter into the pockets. “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here. We have an office to raid.”

***

They sneak into her father’s office, grab the blueprints and get out. It’s incredibly anticlimactic. 

No one walked in on them so she didn’t have to pull Kyle close and kiss him. She definitely thought about it as she watched him meticulously search the office, careful to put everything back the way he found it. It’d be the perfect cover, two horny kids ducking into the nearest room because they just can’t control themselves. Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable and they could probably get away with it, little explanation necessary. 

Francesca tells herself not to be disappointed. 

Kyle’s car makes a weird clicking sound when the valet drives it up the driveway. It’s a long, wide four door sedan, something you’d expect a dad in a 70s sitcom to drive. Kyle opens the passenger side door for her before the valet can and when she sinks into the front seat, the inside smells like cologne and Doritos. At least it’s clean. And he lets her control the radio. 

“Where are we going?” Francesca asks. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“No, that’s not something a serial killer stalker would say _at all_.” 

“Just trust me, okay? It’ll be worth it.” 

She doesn’t know what she expected, an ice cream parlor or maybe the diner he keeps inviting her to. When they arrive at a middle-class suburban house, Kyle kills the engine and runs to open her door for her when she’s too confused to move.

“Where are we?” Francesca asks. 

“My house.” 

“ _Wow_.” 

“It’s not like that. I said the best cherry pie in the state. My mom makes the best cherry pie in the state. It’s seriously good. So good I’m willing to re-up our contract if you disagree.” 

Walking into the Jamison house is like walking onto the set of that same 70’s sitcom, but warmer and lived-in. There’s shag carpet on the floor and the walls are covered in framed family photos over dated wallpaper. A middle-aged man snores away in a reclining chair with the New York Times spread out over him like a blanket, national news watching him sleep from the TV. Francesca nearly moans once the scent of freshly baked pie hits her so at least he wasn’t lying. 

“Mom, I’m home! My friend Francesca’s with me so I hope everyone’s wearing pants!” Kyle offers to take her jacket, but she’d feel much too exposed in this strange, new space without it. 

Kyle’s mom appears in the archway that separates the living room and the kitchen. Her warm smile dispels whatever worries Francesca might have had about coming over so late and with zero notice. 

“ _Francesca_. That’s a pretty name and, well, you’re just as pretty!” Mrs. Jamison props her hands up on her hips and it’s clear where Kyle learned that from. “Oh honey, what are you doing hanging out with _Kyle_?”

“Mom…” 

“Welcome, Francesca! You can call me Donna or _mom_.” 

Kyle’s entire face scrunches, chin tilted to the ceiling, embarrassed. It’s cuter than it should be. “My mom wanted daughters, but got stuck with me and my brother, Larry. Mom, I promised Francesca the best cherry pie in all of Jersey.”

“You came to the right place! My pie has won the Block Party Olympics Bake Off three years running. Do you prefer coffee or tea? And I want to hear all about this party!” 

“Coffee, please,” Francesca says in a voice so meek she even surprises herself. She’s still trying to figure out how she should act in this situation, frozen until Kyle gently touches the back of her arm again and shows her into the spacious kitchen. 

“The party was nice,” Kyle says, undoing the buttons at his wrists and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Francesca’s dad might be the most intimidating man I’ve ever met.”

Francesca scoffs. “My father loved your eight to eleven year life plan so much it was gross.” 

“That’s our Kyle, always planning for the future.” Mrs. Jamison brings them a mug of steaming hot coffee each. “Even when he was little. As soon as he could tell time, he was always making these rigorous timetables and schedules for himself in his little notebook. I’ve seen a lot of weird little kid quirks in my time, but that was a first.” 

“My mom’s a first grade teacher,” Kyle says. “Mom, Francesca is an amazing writer.” 

Mrs. Jamison’s face lights up and Francesca doesn’t think an adult has ever looked at her like that before, like she cares for some reason. “What are your plans for the fall?” 

“NYU,” Francesca replies. “Journalism major. Well, hopefully. If I get in.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Kyle says with a nod. 

As Mrs. Jamison grabs the ice cream from the freezer, Francesca lowers her voice and asks, “I’m an _amazing_ writer, huh?” 

“I’ve read your posts on your web page,” Kyle answers as if surprised she’d even ask. “You’re talented. It’s like...like I can hear your voice when I read your work or something.”

Her breath catches. 

“Milk and sugar?” Kyle asks. Francesca can barely manage a nod. 

He goes to the refrigerator just as Mrs. Jamison slides two dishes of cherry pie onto the table. It’s so pretty it should be in a food magazine. The crust is buttery, flaky and golden brown. Whole cherries swim in the thick, bright red filling. Mrs. Jamison tops each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. 

“Thank you, _mom_ ,” Francesca says playfully. Kyle drops the milk and sugar onto the table and mimes banging his head against it, but Mrs. Jamison seems delighted and that’s what matters. This woman is everything Francesca never had growing up.

“We’d have 1430 cake to offer you, but Larry finished that off after dinner.”

“1430 cake?” Francesca asks, adding a splash of milk and just a spoonful of sugar to her coffee.

“That’s what Kyle got on the SAT,” Mrs. Jamison says brightly. “When he told us the good news, his dad and I might have gone a little overboard and gotten him a sheet cake to celebrate. We’re just so proud of you, son, I hope you know.” 

Kyle nods, but won’t look at his mom, just keeps shoveling pie into his mouth. Kyle keeps his head down, a portrait of guilt if she’s ever seen one. Francesca takes a bite of pie. It’s divine. 

“Well, I should get Lawrence up to bed before he complains about his back tomorrow,” Mrs. Jamison says. “I’ll bring Kyle’s baby album on my way back down. He was a very pretty baby. If you think his eyelashes are unfairly long now, just wait!”

“Mom, please...” 

“You’re right,” Mrs. Jamison concedes. “We can’t possibly get through seventeen years of material tonight. You should come over for dinner sometime. Anytime. Please rescue me from spending every day in this house outnumbered by boys.”

“Mom,” Kyle says warningly.

Donna giggles as she makes her way into the next room, then shouts, “Lawrence, c’mon! You can’t even make it to Late Night anymore. You’re getting old.”

“Sorry about her,” Kyle mutters. “She can be…” 

“An actual parent.” Francesca finishes, savoring the sweet-tart taste on her tongue. She’s heard and read that something was “baked with love,” but always thought it was just flowery sales pitch. She might understand now. “Mmm, you’re right. This might actually be the best pie I’ve ever had.”

“Not to be smug, but I did tell you, didn’t I?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” She coats the back of her fork in melting ice cream and licks it off. “So, 1430, huh? That’s a decent score. Better than decent. So what are we ‘studying’ for?” 

Kyle glances over his shoulder at the doorway. “Son scared of disappointing his parents commits crime. Now _that_ is the oldest story in the world.” 

“You’re not alone in the cliché department at least.” 

“I just...didn’t know how to tell them. All my life, I’d set goals, work hard and accomplish them. And my parents have always been a hundred-percent supportive and I’m not complaining, I know I’m lucky, but then the SAT happened and I don’t know. I blurted out 1430 and suddenly they’re buying me a cake? And saying they’re proud of me. I know there’s no excuse...” 

If she had loving, supporting parents, she wouldn’t want to let them down either. She doesn’t know how to say this without feeling weird and awkward and like she said too much. Francesca stares down at where her hand rests on the counter next to his. Her pinky finger flexes, inches closer, touches his. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. He smiles regardless.

“So, uh, Tuesday we’re having that SAT group meeting here at my brother’s place above the garage,” Kyle explains. “Would you be open to coming over early? My mom will not stop until you agree to dinner. She’s relentless, but no pressure if you don’t want to or you’re busy. I just thought since you’d be here later anyway…” 

“Are the other study buddies invited to dinner?” Francesca asks. 

“Nope. I’d like to keep Roy as far away from my parents as possible.” 

“Okay,” she agrees. “Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday.” 

Later that night, as Francesca sends out an email to the SAT group about their Tuesday plans, she gets distracted staring at her fingers against her keyboard, remembering how she held Kyle’s hand earlier in the night. She _initiated it_ even. She remembers the way he looked at her, his warm words and grounding yet gentle touch. What does it all mean? Why is she so affected by him? 

Maybe it’s because she’s never experienced such...gentleness before, not from Ben, surely not from either of her parents, and she isn’t sure if she should put an end to it before she gets in too deep (gets hurt) or wants more, a lot more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Janine are from "He's Just Not That Into You" a complete waste of time and that's coming from me, a loser who often enjoys wasting my time. Do not recommend! Sorry!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	10. Screw-ups & Tidings

Anna lingers outside before school starts, hoping to catch Francesca and clear the air. 

Desmond made the point that they need to be a team. They don’t have to be friends, but they do need to work together. Anna would rather not have this conversation in front of the boys. It feels bold and unlike her to initiate confrontation. Pre-Committed to Doing Crime Anna would never. 

In theory, it shouldn’t be so hard to find common ground. Despite their drastic difference in personality and lifestyle, they have things in common. They’re both independent (don’t have many friends) and like to express themselves in creative ways. Why shouldn’t they get along at least long enough to pull off a heist? 

All of her attempts to psyche herself up die in vain when Francesca’s little blue car pulls into the lot. She pops her car door and lights a cigarette. At seven o’clock in the morning?! Anna frowns, wondering where someone so young could have picked up the habit. She’d rather not talk to Francesca while she’s smoking, but doesn’t want to miss the opportunity and forces herself to be confident and get this over with. 

“Hi, Francesca!”

Francesca breathes out smoke and laughs when Anna practically jumps away. “What do you want?” 

“I just thought... I wanted to make sure we’re cool. I want everything to go smoothly tonight…”

“Tonight?” Francesca asks, taking another lengthy drag. 

“At the meeting for the SAT...thing.”

Genuine shock bleeds through the Francesca Curtis Cool Girl™ facade. She flicks her barely smoked cigarette aside and steps around Anna as if forgetting she’s even there in an instant. Anna eyes the cigarette that’s still smoking on the asphalt and stomps it out herself. 

“Wait!” Anna shouts. “Can we talk? It’ll only take a second.”

“I thought you said no?” Francesca asks. “Who invited you anyway?”

“Kyle. Initially, when he asked if I wanted in, I said no and I promised not to tell anyone, I swear,” Anna rambles and, well, there’s no going back now. “But I told one person, Desmond. And only because we both really need it! So I messaged Kyle and we met up with the group—”

“Minus the token girl.” 

And this isn’t how Anna planned for this to go _at all_. 

“You didn’t know Desmond and I...joined the study group?” Anna asks and reprimands herself for asking such a stupid question. Everything about Francesca right now, from her pinched forehead to how violently she shoves the front door, screams betrayal and annoyance. “I mean, you can’t blame me for that.”

“Whatever.” 

“So now you know and I want to make sure—” 

Francesca spins around, her expression full of scorn, more intimidating than anyone so short should ever be. “Is there a point to this?”

“This whole SAT thing is nerve-wracking enough,” Anna says. “We don’t need to be friends, but we need to work together.” 

There! She said it! Mission accomplished.

Francesca doesn’t even dignify that with a response and takes off. What is her problem? This can’t still be because of what happened sophomore year, could it? Whatever. Anna doesn’t bother going after her. If she wants to be like that then nothing Anna says or does will change her mind. It goes without saying that trying to be bold probably just made things worse. 

***

Anna tries not to let it bother her all day, tries not to dissect the entire encounter with Francesca and brainstorm what she could have done or said differently.

After thinking about it too much and holding all of her thoughts and feelings inside, Anna ends up venting about the Francesca situation to Desmond and his family when she has dinner at their house that night. She likes the relaxed atmosphere, how she knows she won’t be judged or looked down on for simply being herself. 

“Wasn’t she friends with Staci Blake and that whole ‘popular’ crowd freshman year?” Desmond asks between big bites of his mom’s heavily spiced, stewed chicken. “And she was blonde.” 

“Yeah, but they had a falling out over who-knows-what,” Anna says. The details of high school drama aren’t an extracurricular she cares to partake in. “But what does that have to do with me? Why should weird baggage get in the way of us...getting an A on this group project?” 

“I can’t answer that, but I do know that you can’t control what other people think or do,” Ms. Rhodes tells her with a level of certainty Anna could only ever hope to have one day. “It’s like I tell Desmond with more and more ‘fans’ and ‘critics’ popping up every day. Some people aren’t going to like you, that’s fact, that’s life, but other people are going to _love_ you. The trick is finding the people who see you and accept you for you.” 

“Like us,” Keyon says brightly. 

Anna smiles. “You’re right. Thank you, Ms. Rhodes.” 

“After everything you’ve done to help my son with his grades, you know you’re welcome anytime and I’ll be happy to impart any wisdom I can.” 

Desmond’s quieter than usual, pushing food around on his plate. He doesn’t like keeping secrets, insisting his mom will know something’s wrong and bust them just by looking at him. Suddenly, Desmond’s phone goes off. 

His mom cuts him an unhappy look, but Desmond answers his flip phone anyway. “Yeah.”

“Boy, what’s up! Ha ha!”

Desmond jerks his ear away from the speaker. “Who is this?” 

“It’s Roy! From the SAT thing!”

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m The Ghost. Duh!”

“Give it to me.” Ms. Rhodes holds out her hand and Desmond hesitates, but by the expression on her face, she isn’t to be messed with so he hands his phone to her. She presses a button and puts it on speaker for everyone to hear. “Who’s calling, please?”

“Oh.” _CRASH!_ “It’s, um...Roy.”

Anna and Desmond look at each other. Not good!

“Well, Roy, this is our dinnertime,” Mrs. Rhodes says. “We don’t interrupt your dinnertime, do we?”

“Well, I don’t have dinnertime.”

“And that’s a shame. Now, do you have some business with my son?”

“Uh, well, I am, at this time, assisting him in his SAT exam preparations,” Roy says in a voice that doesn’t sound like the Roy they know whatsoever. “And I was wondering if he could possibly pick me up this evening as I am currently without transportation.”

“Oh, SAT.” His mom stares right at Desmond who can’t keep from squirming in his seat. Anna nearly choked on her ice tea. “Well, there’s hope for you yet, Roy. Why don’t you give me your address and Desmond will be right there?”

“I appreciate that, ma’am. And, uh, may I say that you have an attractive voice. It’s, uh, very pleasant. Uh, young-sounding.”

Anna and Desmond exchange another look. What is up with this guy?

His mom _giggles_. “Mm-hmm. The address, please.” His mom tries her hardest not to smile as she jots down the address, rips the top sheet off of her notepad and hands it to Desmond with an emphatic, “Be on time.”

“Mom,” Desmond says in a scolding voice. “Why were you _giggling_?”

His mom narrows her eyes and gives his phone back. “You know better than to answer your phone at the dinner table. Now hush and eat your chicken.”

***

The drive to Roy’s house is fraught with nervous energy. 

Anna has never seen Desmond grip the steering wheel so tightly. He’s a notoriously slow, safe driver, but she’s pretty sure she sees a car of senior citizens switch lanes, pass them, then cut them off. She tries to think of something to say that might reassure him, but nothing comes to mind so they just sit in silence. 

Roy’s house is a single floor in a middle-class neighborhood just on the edge of their school district. There’s a line of really nice cars in the driveway, the kind that suggests they’re built for more than commuting. Yet another reminder that other than Desmond, she doesn’t know any of these people that she’s about to break the law with. 

“If anyone’s gonna blow this operation, it’s gonna be this guy,” Desmond says, more statement than question.

Anna nods. “Well then, I guess we just have to keep a close eye on him.”

“Are you volunteering?” 

“I suggested it as more of a team effort.”

Desmond honks the car horn impatiently and Roy finally emerges from the house. He stumbles down the walkway like walking in a straight line is physically impossible for him and stops to admire the Cadillac they’re waiting in. 

“Aw, sweet!” Roy climbs into the backseat, practically buzzing. When he leans forward in the gap between Desmond and Anna, she immediately smells the marijuana on him and leans away. “What school gave this to you?”

Desmond narrows his eyes over his shoulder, unamused. “It’s my uncle’s ride, man.” 

“What school gave it to your uncle?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think that’s the only way a Black man can afford a ride like this?” Desmond’s hand tightens around the steering wheel so hard Anna swears she hears it creek. 

“Let’s just go, Des,” Anna says.

“Onward!” Roy shouts. “Ghost ride the whip!” 

“Man, why in the hell you call yourself The Ghost for?” Desmond asks. 

“Uh, because. At school it’s like...” Roy laughs, lips curling into a cunning smile. “I hear things and I see things, but no one sees or hears me.” 

That sounds kind of...lonely. 

“I got your cell number, didn’t I?” Roy brags. “You got mine? Huh? Huh? No you don’t. See, Ghost Shit 101.”

Desmond shares a glance with Anna and mutters, “This fool is crazy.”

Roy leans forward and turns the radio volume all the way up. A rapper (Lil’ Jon) sings about a window and a wall. Desmond turns the dial right back down and mutters, “Don’t touch my shit.”

Well, this is off to a great start! And she thought Francesca hating her might be their biggest obstacle? Anna doesn’t even want to imagine what the whole group will be like together. If the awkward silence in the car is any indication, this heist film might actually be a horror movie. 

***

When they arrive on Kyle’s street, it’s almost impossible to find parking, which does nothing for Desmond’s grumpy mood. They end up parking two blocks away and following a steady flow of people who seem to be going to the same place. 

“The email said to meet at the apartment above the garage,” Anna says. 

And yeah, after looking at it again, it seems Francesca composed the original email and Kyle forwarded it to her and Desmond. She can feel her own nerves starting to come to life, not knowing what to expect. Anna has never done well in situations when she doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen, where she lacks control. 

Two college-age girls cut in front of them on the sidewalk, each clutching a bottle of wine and dressed for a party. Anna feels her heart speed up when the girl in the leather skirt starts criticizing their representatives in the general election. Anna’s throat goes dry, itching to jump into their conversation with something substantial and witty when Roy lets out a wolf whistle, admiring a little more than the leather skirt or the conversation. 

“What is wrong with you?” Anna shoves Roy. He loses his footing and falls into the hedges lining the sidewalk. Desmond laughs, head thrown back, hand clutching his side and everything. Anna feels her face heat up when the two girls laugh at them before continuing on their way. 

Desmond hangs his arm around Anna’s neck as they continue down the sidewalk, ignoring Roy’s moans. “You know I’d be talking you outta this if I wasn’t desperate, right?” 

“You know I’d be doing the same thing if I wasn’t desperate, right?” 

They leave it at that, resigned to whatever happens next, and walk around the main house into the backyard where they can see lights on in the apartment above the garage. 

“How many people are in on this thing?” Desmond asks, taking the words right out of her mouth.

“Francesca, wait! What happened to dinner? My mom made cherry chocolate cake.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I just assumed you’d invite Anna Ross without telling me again.”

Anna hides behind the large tree in the yard and when Desmond raises an eyebrow, she motions for him to hide with her. She peeks around the thick tree trunk and only relaxes a little when it doesn’t seem like Kyle or Francesca noticed them, busy locked in an intense staring contest. 

“Anna Ross,” Desmond whispers with a wicked grin. “Homewrecker.” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Anna whisper-shouts. “I’ve been very professional! I don’t even think they’re together…are they? It’d make more sense why she hates me so much if they’re secretly dating or something.”

“They’re not.” Roy appears between her and Desmond. Neither even heard him sneaking up on them. “Not yet. Hundred bucks says they bone before the retest. Takers?” 

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Desmon says. “Look at ‘em. They’re like a Discovery Channel special.”

“ _You_ watch Discovery Channel?” Roy asks.

Anna glances between Desmond squinting his eyes and Roy biting his bottom lip and shakes her head. “We should give them some privacy.” 

“No way, A,” Desmond says. “What better way to really get to know our SAT group than invading their privacy?” 

“I like the way you think, D-Rhod.” Roy gives Desmond a smack on the shoulder. 

Desmond rises to his full height, easily towering over Roy. “Don’t touch me and don’t call me that.”

“I was going to tell you about Anna and Desmond,” Kyle insists. 

“When? We were together all Saturday night and what? It didn’t cross your mind?” 

“Your bet is void,” Desmond says. “They already done did it.” 

“Nu-uh!” Roy shouts, but it doesn’t seem Kyle and Francesca have noticed, wholly focused on each other. “They radiate _way_ too much unresolved sexual tension. I’d know if they did it already. I’m The Ghost, man.”

“You’re fucking weird is what you are, I swear.” 

“I just...I don’t know.” Kyle pulls at his hair in frustration, making it stick up even more than usual. “After the party and everything, I didn’t think you were in the mood to talk about it. I would have told you if I knew it was going to be such a big deal.” 

“It’s not,” Francesca argues. “I don’t care.”

“Are you sure? Because it kind of sounds like you do.” 

“This is like Korean dramas level shit,” Roy says excitedly. 

“Did you give her your mini-sword too?” Francesca asks accusingly. 

Both Desmond and Roy turn to Anna with wide, inquiring eyes. 

“No!” Anna says. “I don’t even know what that means!”

Roy laughs. “It sounds _dirty_.” 

“No,” Kyle answers. “Do you know how long it took me to make yours? And that’s not the point. What’s your problem with Anna?” 

“You don’t find it a little suspicious that the smartest girl in our class wants in? She started that stupid clean teen pledge. Who’s to say she doesn’t have a sudden change of heart and screws us over? She’s more of a liability than Roy and he’s already smoked most of his brain cells away.”

“Hurtful,” Roy mumbles, then grins. “But true.” 

Anna has heard enough and makes a beeline for the stairs leading to the apartment above the garage. Desmond catches up to her within seconds while Roy trails behind them and sounds out of breath by the time they reach the top. Francesca can think whatever she wants. Francesca doesn’t know her. She doesn’t need her to. That isn’t what this is about.

Beyond the front door of the apartment above the garage is something Anna has never encountered before—

A real, genuine party!

The small, cluttered space is packed with people who skew a little older than high school, most of them holding wine glasses, laughing, chatting and pouring each other drinks. In the corner, there’s a young man standing in a barrel, squishing grapes with his bare feet as a small crowd cheers him on. What the hell did they just walk into?

“Welcome to Wine Tasting Tuesday!” A man in his early 20s with a penchant for loud Hawaiian shirts worn open to showoff his hairless chest greets them at the door. “I remember putting ‘bring your own glass’ in the invite, but hell, sometimes I leave the house forgetting my pants. I’ve got a straggler stash in the kitchen as long as supplies last!” 

Roy wanders inside without a second thought. Desmond stands out like a sore thumb, easily the tallest in the room and the least amused. It takes Anna a minute to adjust. The smell of cigarettes and marijuana linger in the air and she’s half-afraid her parents will be able to smell it on her once she gets home. There’s music playing, but it’s mostly drowned out by multiple conversations happening at once. 

“I don’t know. Now that I’m so close to graduating, I kinda regret not making time to travel before real life and responsibilities kick in, you know?” 

No. Way.

That’s soon-to-be Queen of Genovia, Princess Mia Thermopolis wearing a loud, proud Princeton sweater and casually swirling a glass of red wine in one hand.

 _Be cool_ , Anna tells herself. Either no one else realizes they’re sipping wine in the company of royalty or they’re ten times better at playing it cool than she is. 

“Gap year is the way to go,” another girl says in a sing-song voice. “How can anyone be sure about what they even want straight out of high school? University is a huge commitment and the world is so much bigger than higher education! We should really normalize gap years—and my personal suggestion soul searching abroad—before going to school to get a job to pay off insurmountable student loans. Hazaa!”

“And that sounds like an excuse to brag about you ‘soul searching’ in Greece for a year and a half,” Mia says knowingly. 

“Funny you should say that.” Her friend holds up a digital camera and all of her friends moan about having seen the pictures a million times. “What? I thought it’d be appropriate! Athens was life-changing.”

“Did you visit the Theater of Dionysus?” Anna asks without thinking. She regrets it when the small gathering of college-age women are suddenly acknowledging her existence. “I mean, it’s Wine Tasting Tuesday and Dionysus is the Greek god of wine, ritual madness and the theater…” 

“See! I’m not just bragging! It’s relevant!” the second girl shouts. “And yeah, you bet I did! I took a tour. It’s still an impressive performance space and the view from the top! Everyone needs to see it once in their life. Taking a gap year before university was _so_ worth it.” 

“Could I see the pictures?” Anna asks, hating herself for sounding so eager. 

She feels her face burn, expecting to be shamed or laughed at, but the girl with the camera nods her head vigorously and Mia Freaking Thermopolis scoots over on the couch and pats the empty space for Anna to sit. She feels like she walked into a dream, sitting next to an actual princess, looking over amateurish, but respectable photos of Greece at a wine-tasting party. It’s too absurd to be real life. 

“I’ve always wanted to go to Greece,” Anna says.

“What’s stopping you?” Mia asks. 

Real life. Responsibility. Money. The threat of being disowned by her parents. 

“Life must be lived as play,” the second girl says. “Plato. Huh? See what I did there? A few more glasses and there will definitely be some divine intervention!” 

Anna surprises herself with how comfortable she is having casual conversation at a party with college students! When Mia Freaking Thermopolis pours her a glass of wine, Anna accepts it and takes a small sip.

It isn’t long before she feels a tap on her arm and Desmond nods to Kyle at the door. By his pinched expression, he hadn’t anticipated Wine Tasting Tuesday either. Their host moves in on Francesca and when she tries to step around him, he mirrors her. It happens twice, which makes Francesca _giggle_. Weird. Kyle watches this interaction with concern (jealousy?) and once Francesca slips away, Kyle shoves Mr. Hawaiian Shirt and has some heated words for him. Definitely jealous. 

Apparently her desire for a surefire way to ace the SAT without having to think or getting overwhelmed landed her in the middle of some budding will-they-won’t-they romantic subplot. Kyle is cute in that boy next door kind of way and in their limited interaction, he’s proven to be genuine. He seems like the type of guy Francesca would eat alive and ridicule if he ever asked her to prom. 

Duty calls. Anna starts to stand up, but Mia Thermopolis grabs her arm with a gasp. “Wait!” She practically slurs the word, her body bonelessly draped over the arm of the couch. “I know that we just met and I’ve had just a _little_ lot to drink—”

“A little lot?” Her friend giggles. 

“But you are super smart and super pretty and you deserve the world!” Mia shouts over the party sounds. “You should go to Greece or wherever before committing to whatever or whoever. You don’t wanna have any regrets and you shouldn’t! Got me?” 

“You’re going to be an amazing queen,” Anna blurts out before she can get a grip. She can feel her face heat, preparing for humiliation, but Mia just coos and drags her into a one-armed hug. The future Queen of Genovia is hugging her and telling her to run off to Greece! Can you say best night ever? 

“Are parties always this awesome?” Anna asks.

“You’re saying _this_ is more your speed than lame high school parties?” Desmond takes the wineglass Anna forgot she was even babysitting and places it on the nearest flat surface. “Okay, you ready for this?”

Nope. Not at all. No way.

Anna would much rather pretend to drink wine and hang out with a future queen, but this meeting is the whole reason they’re even here. Anna takes a deep breath and follows Desmond past a beaded curtain into the unknown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mia Thermopolis is from "The Princess Diaries" and the sequel came out the same year as TPS. Also, Bryan Greenberg played Anne Hathaway's love interest in "Bride Wars." I had to do it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	11. Survey & Tiffs

Roy is in fact a lot more present than anyone gives him credit for. 

As soon as they write him off as a brainless stoner who doesn't know up from down, left from right most of the time, BOOM! They just got GHOSTED! The Ghost of Davenport High is a silent, but deadly observer. He listens, makes mental notes about his peers and tucks them into his back pocket for a rainy day. 

Being one of two Asian American kids in his entire elementary school, Roy picked up the habit of observing his classmates, judging what’s considered “normal” behavior and copying them. Maybe it’s because both of his parents died when he was young and he was sent to live with an aunt he barely knew. He never had parents to teach him how to be normal so he had to make due with what he had and it became a way of life. 

Once he hit high school, Roy realized he’d never fit in so there’s no point in trying. Thus, The Ghost was born. 

Thanks to his powers of super observation, Roy has this whole SAT group figured out. Kyle is the self-appointed leader who will probably give himself an ulcer. He’s a visionary, but half the shit he designs would never pass inspection. Matty’s the grumpy sidekick who will bitch and moan, but defer to Kyle. He uses more hair product to get his curls that way than he’s secure enough to admit and his girlfriend has probably moved on even though neither are ready to admit and accept it. 

Francesca Curtis. Talk about your forbidden fruit! The Ghost has been her most reliable source since Davenport High ~~Lies~~ School went live so he’s observed her from a distance for a while. He’s never seen her look at someone the way she looks at Kyle when he isn’t looking. Like she so wants a piece of that! It’s downright dirty! But she’s got walls as high as Everest and Kyle has zero climbing experience. The play-by-play development should be fun!

Anna Ross gives off a total Sonya Blade vibe (hot!), but Desmond Rhodes might punch him into the next county if he ever got too close. Anna takes one sip of wine, but not a second at Wine Tasting Tuesday. From past observation, Desmond doesn’t drink, smoke, do drugs or date _ever_. A total straight-edge in the wild! They’re an unexpected package deal, but anyone paying attention will notice them hanging out in between classes and after school on a regular basis. 

All in all, with this many different personalities, they’re bound to clash. 

Roy stumbled past an awesome beaded curtain into the bedroom area of the apartment above the garage. So this is how the well-off middle class lives. It’s significantly less crowded and less noisy, but filled with interesting little knickknacks and treasures begging to be admired and pocketed. 

Francesca’s already situated in an old armchair with her laptop in her lap, radiating her usual fuck off energy field. Anna and Desmond sit together on the other side of the room having a silent conversation with the eyes. The room is silent, atmosphere tense. Perfect for fireworks and if they’re lucky, a girlfight! 

“Sorry, guys,” Kyle says. “My brother promised we could have the place to ourselves.” 

“And he lied like a liar and you believed him like a sucker,” Matty says in a tone that screams I-told-you-so. “It’s funny how you can trust people, even people you’ve known forever and they can still stab you in the back. Imagine what people you just met can do.” 

“Do you have something to say to me, Matthews?” Their host in the Hawaiian shirt stands right behind Matty like something out of a movie. Matty pales, spins and sputters like a younger brother who’s taken a beating from his older sibling(s) before. It really takes the edge off of his snide little speech. 

“Larry, can you leave us alone?” Kyle asks. “Please?” 

A playful grin breaks out across Larry’s face as he takes in the sight of six misfits in way over their heads. “This is so cute. This whole thing…” Larry turns away from them and throws his arms in the air like a referee signaling a touchdown. “Hey! I got next! Who’s getting in the barrel with me?!”

Kyle fixes the beaded curtain dangling in the doorway and starts to unpack and unravel multiple tubes of paper. “Okay, let’s start.”

And Roy loses interest almost immediately, more curious about the room, its contents and places to potentially leave his mark...

Desmond eyes Francesca warily. “Man, what the hell is she typing?”

Ooh. That’s interesting too. 

Francesca’s head pops up from behind her laptop. “I’m just taking notes.”

“Keep my name and Anna’s name off your little web page and we’re cool,” Desmond tells her. It’s not a polite request. “We don’t need you doing us dirty like you did to the teacher with that flashy new Camero.”

“That he bought with a bonus he got for doing the bare minimum required of a teacher,” Francesca points out, “which could have went toward basic equipment that the school desperately needs, like new computers, updated library materials—”

“Ooh!” Roy raises his hand. “Public bathhouse!” 

Sometimes Roy says shit just to see how people react. He’s learned a lot that way. 

“ _This_ is ETS,” Kyle says loudly, directing everyone’s attention to the spread of blueprints and print photos of the building’s many entrances and exits. 

“Who took those photos?” Francesca asks. 

“Anna took them,” Kyle replies, keeping his eyes down. Also interesting. 

“Oh.” Francesca’s intense stare lands on Anna before she turns back to her laptop. _Super_ interesting! 

“I’m...not sure I’m comfortable with this,” Anna confesses. 

“Oh, you look comfortable in your Old Navy cotton pullover,” Francesca says. 

Roy’s girlfight senses tingle and he isn’t the only one. Matty licks his lips in anticipation. 

Contrary to what Roy has observed of her in the past, which is to avoid confrontation at all cost, Anna looks right at Francesca and boldly asks, “Did I do something?” 

“Yeah, you did something,” Francesca replies. “You got a 4.0 GPA.”

Matty groans. “Here we go.” 

“Here we go,” Roy says, practically bursting from the anticipation. 

Francesca carefully puts her laptop aside and stands, leaving this reality behind and entering a completely separate plane of existence Roy dubs Girl World. “Do you know what’s the fatal flaw for most heists? Hmm? It’s trusting the team. So excuse me for being a bitch, but I’d like to know why the valedictorian is here.”

“I’m not the valedictorian,” Anna argues. “I’m...second.”

“Oh, that explains everything.” 

“Everyone has their own reason for being here,” Kyle cuts in. “We don’t need to know.”

“Really? I think we do.” Francesca folds her arms across her chest and seems just as determined to not look at Kyle. That's all the confirmation Roy needs. They haven’t boned, but they totally want to! “It’ll be like that scene in The Breakfast Club where they all get stoned and make confessions to each other.” 

“Ah, sweet!” Roy shouts. “I got the stoned part—”

“We should say exactly why we’re here,” Francesca says. 

Anna sputters. “Kyle said we wouldn’t have to so—”

“Well, I think we do so I’ll start.” Francesca dramatically sighs. In a mockingly sweet voice, she says, “I’m here to make new friends.” Her expression turns sour, turns true. “And for the wine, of course.”

“How about you, Superstar?” Matty calls Desmond out. 

“I’m here because the SAT is racist,” Desmond answers. Half of the room guffaws and it just spurns him on. “You don’t think so? Who created the test? Rich white guys. Who scores the highest on the test? Rich white guys’ kids.”

“Asian chicks,” Roy says. “Middle class Asian girls who watch less than an hour of television a day. They can’t drive, but they can take the shit outta the SAT!”

“There’s so much wrong with everything that comes out of your mouth,” Anna says. 

Desmond turns to Francesca. “You can’t write on the gender bias of standardized tests then deny there’s a racial bias.”

“I’m not denying anything,” Francesca says. “I’m flattered you’ve studied my web page apparently.”

“The design could use work, but the content’s worth the eye strain,” Roy adds. 

“Why are you here?” Desmond asks Matty.

“Uh, ‘cause I’m not smart enough, not because I’m some genius getting screwed by The Man.”

“It is, you know.” Anna rises to Desmond’s defense. “It’s unfair to certain groups.” 

“Not kiss-ass valedictorians,” Francesca says. 

“I’m not the valedictorian!”

“Oh, right.” Francesca frowns with fake sympathy. “You’re _second_.”

“Enough, okay?” Kyle gives them a sweeping glance full of frustration and slaps a hand against the blueprints spread across the bed. “Like I was saying, this is the floor plan for the tower that houses the regional ETS office. We have the hardware schedule that tells us the specs of the security system. They’ve got cameras here, here, here and here.”

_Oh shit_. Is that a lamp or a bong?

“Roy! Pay attention!” Kyle shouts. He snaps to attention. Yup, this guy definitely thinks he’s the leader. “Francesca has access and we know where the test answers are filed so if you guys think that we can somehow—”

Desmond’s phone goes off. Roy has admittedly lost interest completely and he’s tired of pretending to pay attention. Francesca’s fingers fly across the keyboard as she curses at something on the screen—music to Roy’s ears. Kyle takes a moment to hang his head and Anna regards him with genuine sympathy. 

“This is never going to work,” Matty says. 

Roy plops down next to Francesca and asks, “Need some help with that?”

“Mm, no. Unless you can encode Visual Basic.” 

Roy commandeers her laptop and after a few practiced keystrokes, BOOM! She got GHOSTED! Techno Whisperer is another of the Ghost of Davenport High’s superpowers. Both of the computer and musical variety. 

“What’d you do?” Francesca stares at him with new, suspicious eyes. 

“Uh, just some shit with the dynamic variables.” 

“I don’t have time for this,” Desmond mutters. “Anna, you still down for this or what?” 

“Have some patience,” Matty says. “Maybe this is why coach never gives you the ball in the final seconds of the game.” 

“We’re usually up by so much, I rest all of the fourth,” Desmond retorts. “Man, don’t talk like you know shit about me.” 

“Des, okay, let’s just go.” Anna touches his arm until he unlocks figurative horns with Matty. She casts Kyle an apologetic frown before grabbing her coat and following Desmond to the beaded curtain. 

Kyle takes in the sight of his crew crumbling before his very eyes. This is the pivotal moment where the would-be hero admits defeat or embraces the challenge. 

“Did you guys see Desmond on TV this weekend, playing for St. John’s?” Kyle asks just as Desmond holds the beaded curtain to one side for Anna to walk through. “Took 25 and 10 off North Carolina. Matty, you saw it, right? You were at your apartment with Sandy in Maryland.”

Ah, so he’s into visualization. He seems like the type.

Seeing what he’s going for, Anna grins. “I missed it. I had a date. But my roommate at Brown is a big sports fan. She said it was pretty great.”

“You know what? It was great,” Kyle says. “I saw the whole thing from my Cornell dorm room. Francesca—” He turns to her and she lifts an eyebrow. “—you saw a headline for it on the Yahoo homepage while fact-checking an article for the Washington Square News. Roy, you had money on the game.”

“Well, I hope you covered the spread,” Roy grumbles. 

“We can do this, okay?” Kyle says with total belief in himself and belief in them for reasons none of the others can understand. “We can all get where we want to go, but none of this works if we don’t trust each other.”

“You talk a good game, Jamison,” Desmond says, “but I feel like your mom’s about to come in here with snacks. This is serious, man. Some of us got a lot to lose.”

“Uh, I think we all have a lot to lose,” Matty says. 

“Just hear me out,” Kyle says. “Once you hear the plan, if you don't like it, you can walk and we won’t speak of this ever again. It’s as simple as that.”

Anna’s willing to listen, but waits for Desmond. When he sighs and sits where he can have a better view of the blueprints, Anna sits beside him. Even Francesca closes her laptop and sets it aside. Matty just shrugs, had no plans to leave anyway. Roy continues to act distracted or so they think. 

“Four out of five isn’t bad, I’ll take it,” Kyle says. “Okay, this is what we’re doing…” 

***

As soon as everyone tentatively agrees to the plan, the meeting is adjourned! Wine Tasting Tuesday continues to rage on and the main area of the apartment seems even more crowded than an hour ago. Roy crawls out of a window, greeted by crisp November air. He plops down on the roof so he can light a beautifully-rolled joint if he does say so himself. 

From this vantage point, he can see Francesca standing under the big tree in the backyard lighting a cigarette. He hears heavy footsteps on the landing just outside the front door beneath him. 

“Hey mama, just checking in…” That’s Desmond’s voice, but Roy can't actually see him. “Yeah, this study group’s a bunch of nerds, but it’s going alright…” 

If he stretches his body just right across the rough shingles, Roy can peer in through the bedroom window where Kyle collapses onto the bed, an arm thrown across his eyes, and Anna giggles. 

“I think you did well considering your audience.”

Kyle laughs, but mostly sounds completely drained. “Thanks. What do you think?”

“I think you put a lot of thought into the plan, but I can’t help worrying about the execution.”

“You aren’t alone,” Kyle confesses. “We won’t know how it’ll play out until we do it.”

How sweet and supportive. Boring! 

“Hey Kyle, why did you bring me in?” Anna asks. “Couldn’t help, but notice Francesca and Matty aren’t thrilled with your decision.” 

“It’ll be long forgotten once they get their answers.”

“Still, why? I want to know.”

“Well, like I said, I saw you the day we took the SAT,” Kyle says, “and I might not be going through the exact same thing as you, but I felt like I could relate. Being lost or stuck or something. Then I thought maybe helping each other is the way to get unstuck, how we move forward.” He chuckles. “Well, it all worked out. I can’t think of two people more qualified to watch Roy on the ground.”

“Wonderful,” Anna says sarcastically.

So! Boring! 

Seeing Matty walk over to Francesca in the yard below is infinitely more interesting, but they’re too far away to eavesdrop on. Roy holds the flame of a cheap gas station lighter to the end of the joint and rotates it for an even burn, improvising dialogue in his head. Could there be another contender for Francesca Curtis’ heart or is Matty just crying about his girlfriend like always? Odds are the second one. 

The apartment door squeals open and Desmond asks, “A, ready to go?” 

The rest of the group is about to stumble upon Matty and Francesca having A Moment! Score! He’s got to see this! Going back into the apartment will definitely take too long so Roy opts to crawl on his belly on the roof and hang his head over the edge. 

He sees the exact moment Kyle spots Matty and Francesca talking outside of the group. Even with all of the blood in his body rushing to his head, Roy can tell that Desmond and Anna are just as curious to see Kyle’s reaction. His brow furrows, questioning it, but he drops it a second later. That’s it?! No wonder the dude’s never had a girlfriend!

“That’s it?” Roy asks out loud, and his joint falls from between his lips. “Oh shit!” He reaches to try to catch it and loses his footing. Roy falls off the roof and just barely manages to grab onto the rain gutter. Unfortunately, his weight rips the rain gutter from the side of the house. His stomach swoops. Roy manages to hang on and rides the rain gutter down, letting go when he’s hovering feet off the grass. And he sticks the landing!

“Roy!” Kyle shouts. “What the hell?”

“How are you not dead right now?” Matty asks. 

Roy searches around him and picks up the joint. “It’s okay! It’s fine!” 

“Okay then, I’ll get the car.” Desmond walks down the stairs and pauses once he’s right next to Roy. Looking like he already regrets it, Desmond asks, “Do you still need a ride?”

Roy’s ears perk up. “Really?”

“I brought you here, didn’t I? It’d be rude to just ditch you.”

“Aw!” Roy coos. “And I thought Kyle was the one who’s too nice to say no!” 

“He is,” Francesca, Matty and Anna all say in unison. 

“Just don’t smoke any of that shit in my uncle’s car or I swear I’ll open a door and push you out,” Desmond says. “A, I’ll call you when I pull up out front.” 

“I’m just gonna smoke this now instead of in your car,” Roy says, indicating his precious joint. 

“Good call,” Desmond mutters before walking away. Roy follows his lead, but once the big tree blocks their view of him, he gets behind it and presses his back to the trunk. 

Ghost Tip #69: They’ll probably talk more freely if they think they’re alone. 

“Uh, almost forgot this.” Kyle hands Francesca her bag. As if she would leave her laptop behind. It’s the classic leave something behind so your crush can bring it to you and you have an excuse to talk. And it worked! Dude’s just flinging himself at her black widow web. Godspeed! 

“Thanks,” Francesca says.

“You got a minute?” Kyle asks. 

“Only a minute.” 

Kyle nods, will probably take anything she’s willing to give him. Maybe if Kyle really delivers and saves him from Striker, Roy will play wingman and get this kid laid already. Kyle tells Matty and Anna he’ll see them at school tomorrow before letting Francesca into the main house. She walks right inside with a level of familiarity that suggests she’s been here before. Maybe Kyle doesn’t need help after all. 

“You okay?” Anna asks Matty. 

“Huh? Me?” Matty sounds genuinely surprised that she’d ask, that anyone would care enough to. Roy can relate. “Yeah. I just spaced out for a sec. Just thinking about Sandy and how the falling part was easy, but the relationship stuff…”

“How does she like school?” 

“She likes it a lot. She’s a communications major and she’s rushing a sorority, but… I feel like she has this entire life that I’m not part of. And what am I doing? Trying to steal the SAT so I can be with her, waiting around for her to call every night.” 

Dude, that’s fucking lame. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to do the musical? It might take your mind off of things?”

At the very least, she makes him laugh. “I already told you I only did it for Sandy.”

“I was there too, you know. You obviously loved it and you aren’t half bad,” Anna says, and strongly believes that. “I mean, your dancing could use some work, but you can sing for someone with zero formal training. You were a great Romeo in Romeo and Juliet.”

“That was before Striker transferred here.”

“Striker’s all ego and autotune. The rest of us should get extra credit for putting up with him every day. I really think you’d be a big help. I’d be an irresponsible stage manager if I didn’t at least try to get you involved.”

“Isn’t it a little late?”

“It’s never too late.” Anna digs around in her expensive, leather bag that she probably got as a gift. It doesn’t seem like something she’d buy herself. She pulls out a tightly bound booklet. “You could understudy or help the crew backstage or join the choir! Look over the script and I could give you the music to listen to tomorrow if you’re interested. The songs are weirdly catchy.” 

“I don’t know, Anna…”

“Just look over it, okay? Sandy might have taken your heart with her to Maryland, but she didn’t take your talent.” 

In the end, Matty takes the script and BOOM! Hook, line, and sinker! Girl magic wins!

Anna’s assessment of Matty’s stage career thus far is pretty spot-on. Roy saw some of his performances waiting for a few crew and tech guys to finish up so they could hotbox in someone’s van. Matty dances like a white boy with two left feet, but he’s easily more charming when playing a character than when he’s being himself. 

Roy takes a hit from the joint as he tiptoes and tries to look into the kitchen window. He just barely catches a glimpse of Kyle and Francesca and—ooh, are they eating cake?

“What are you doing?”

Roy spins around and turns it into a totally passable pirouette because he’s cool like that. His sweet move doesn’t distract Anna who glares at him like she just caught him doing something naughty. Did she just sneak up on The Ghost?! Sonya Blade indeed. 

“Just gotta stay limber! You know how it is…” 

She doesn’t buy it at all. “Uh-huh. You really are more observant than anyone gives you credit for, aren’t you, Roy?”

“I, uh, don’t know what that means.” Roy plays with his joint and offers it to her. “Want a hit? No pressure! More for me if you don’t!” 

If anything can throw her off his scent, offering Queen D.A.R.E. contraband will do the trick! Her eyes go straight to the joint and he can tell she’s curious so he lights the end, watching the cherry spark and burn bright and even. 

“Why do you smoke weed?” Anna asks.

“Why do you bite your fingernails?”

“How do you know I bite my fingernails?” Anna curls her fingers inward as if to hide the evidence. “Nervous habit, I guess. Doesn’t it make your head foggy and distort your judgement and sense of reality?” 

Roy shrugs. “Everyone’s experience is different. That’s why if you’re gonna try it for the first time to decide if you like it or not, do it with someone you trust and who’s done it before. Like me!” 

“Absolutely not.” Anna’s phone rings and she answers it. “Yes, Des, we’re on our way.”

Roy feels like he’s buzzing when he hears that word. _We_. He’s never been a _we_ before. He’s never had friends before. He isn’t stupid enough to count the stoners he gets high with as friends. Maybe he’d be stupid to count this ragtag team of collective test anxiety as friends too, but the idea of it feels strangely good. Not that he would admit this to any of them. 

For now, he’s comfortable waiting to see how all of this turns out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris Evans and Matthew Lillard played brothers and it was in TPS of all things. Haha, gotta love it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	12. Song & Trap

“What do you mean you aren’t coming home for Thanksgiving?” 

Not that Matty should be surprised by the disappointment anymore. He holds his phone to his ear, resisting the urge to throw it. Again. 

“Babe, I need to make a good impression on my sorority sisters.”

“You’re passing on seeing me to kiss ass?” he asks.

“Okay, why do you have to put it like that?”

“Because that’s how it is, Sandy!”

“I have to be there for Thanksgiving dinner, Matt. What do you want me to do, leave Wednesday night and fly home, get there on Thanksgiving then fly home Saturday? I’ll be home for all of winter break for sure. I promise.” 

“I know, but I was really looking forward to seeing you…”

“I know, babe. But this is _so_ important to me. You’ll understand once you get here. And I promise to make it up to you once I get home!” There’s a conversation happening around her on the other side of the line and he wonders who she’s with and not for the first time. “Matt, I gotta go. I’m on my way to the library. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Matty goes through his morning routine, brushes his teeth, styles his hair, but not so much that it looks like he spends a lot of time styling it. He goes through the motions, thinking about Sandy and the weird conversation he had with Francesca Curtis after the shit storm of an SAT meeting the other night. 

_“What’s so great about her?” Francesca asked. “I mean, aside from being smoke-free.”_

_“You wouldn’t get it.”_

_“Try me.”_

_Matty stared up at the gray sky, thinking about Sandy, missing Sandy. “I mean, it’s like, I don’t get the best grades. I’m not really great at...anything. But here was something I was finally great at. I was great at being with Sandy. I could make her laugh. I could guess what she was thinking. And it was just...great. It was great.”_

_“And?”_

_“And I can’t wait to be great again.”_

Matty thought he might bitch to Kyle about how stupid and out-of-hand this SAT thing has gotten, but decided against it once Kyle and Francesca disappeared into his house together. He can’t exactly complain when he used to ditch Kyle for Sandy all the time. Damn. So this is what that feels like, huh? 

When he walks downstairs and sees his older brother having breakfast with his parents, Matty already knows today will only get worse. Jack Matthews has the zombie stare of someone who’s realized it’s just easier to roll with the tide than fight for what he wants. He’s starting to lose his hair and barely fits into his Matthews and Sons’ uniform—navy coveralls with his name on a patch sewn in over the heart. 

“What are you doing here?” Matty asks his brother. 

“Matthew,” his mother hisses. “Don’t be rude to your older brother!” 

“What? I’m just asking!” 

“I got an appointment out this way in an hour so I thought I’d stop by.”

And grab a free meal. Probably do laundry too. 

“And you know you’re always welcomed, Jackson.” Their mom dutifully refills his coffee mug while their father just sighs from behind layers and layers of newspaper that obscures his face. “This is still your house too.” 

“For a price,” Jack mutters. 

The newspaper fortress folds, revealing Bob Matthew’s stern, unamused face. “Did you say something?”

“No, sir,” Jack replies. 

“That’s what I thought.” Their father makes another disgruntled sound and dives back into the sports section. Yikes. 

When their father put his foot down and told Jackson he’d have to pay rent if he still wanted to live in their basement, Jack moved out within the week. It’s not that he wanted to chase Jack out. It wasn’t even about the money. Bob Matthews had to work for everything he has, built his company from the ground up and wants his children to learn the satisfaction of having things as a result of hard work. Matty’s dreading the moment they present him with the same ultimatum. 

“Have you been over lately?” Matty asks his brother. 

“He was here while you were out the other week to do laundry after his apartment’s laundry room flooded,” their mom answers. “Jack, did you let them know you’re a plumber and could take a look?”

“That’s what maintenance is for, ma. And it’s all fixed now.” Jack eyes Matty like he’s prepared to flip the table between them and chase down his snitch kid brother. “Why?”

“No reason,” Matty says coolly. “I’m going to school.”

“What about breakfast?” His mom frets. 

“I’ll pick something up at the caf. I’m meeting my study group before school starts.”

Jack snorts with laughter into his coffee. “Studying? _You_?”

“Got a problem?” Matty squeezes his fingers around the straps of his backpack. 

“He took the SAT twice now,” his dad adds. “Hoping the third time’s the charm.”

“Why waste your time?” Jack asks. 

“I don’t need this right now,” Matty mumbles under his breath. 

Between Sandy disappointing him and his family laughing at him putting in the tiniest bit of effort, Matty feels like shit. He wants to do something for himself, not Sandy or his parents or anyone else. He wants to feel a part of something. He wants to feel worth something. 

***

“I want in. With the musical, I mean.” 

Anna looks up from the digital screen of her camera with a pleasantly surprised smile. “Awesome! Um, let’s go talk to Miss Baggoli. Now. Right now!” 

Anna grabs Matty by the sleeve of his jacket and drags him all the way to the drama department, a glorified storage room located behind the auditorium. The room is filled with racks and racks of costumes and half-built props. Framed promotional posters of past productions hang on the walls and Matty can’t help, but remember all of the good times he had with Sandy during those runs.

Miss Baggoli is a tiny, thin woman with a nest of silver hair pinned atop her head. She stares at her desktop computer the whole time Anna pleads his case. Anna sounds so passionate on his behalf and Matty isn’t sure he deserves that level of support, but now that he’s seen her in action, if he gets in, he can’t let her down. 

“What’s a synonym for smoldering?” Miss Baggoli asks. “I can’t use smoldering twice. This isn’t amateur hour.”

“Um.” Anna turns to Matty who just shrugs. Like hell if he knows, he’s in remedial English class. “Burning, smoking, fuming?”

“No, no, no. Like the eyes of the broody town bad boy with a six—no, eight—pack abs and greaser hair when you catch his gaze from across the illegal street race. Smolder! But I already used it in the previous paragraph. Do you know what I mean? Has a boy ever looked at you that way?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Matty replies. 

“Can’t say I know the feeling,” Anna says, “but it sounds, um, intense?” 

“Yes!” Miss Baggoli holds down the backspace button on her keyboard. 

“Miss Baggoli,” Anna says firmly, “what do you think about Matty joining the crew?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem, but I need to hear you sing.”

“Do you?” Matty’s voice cracks. “I’ve done school musicals before. I’m pretty decent.”

“I’m sure you’re a real modern day Gene Kelly, Mr. Matthews, but this is my first year as _the_ director and I need to hear you sing so I can gage your...usefulness for the lack of a better word. I know it’s short notice, but so is your request, I’ll remind you. Let’s meet at the auditorium at the start of lunch.”

Matty swallows his nerves and nods. “I’ll be there.” 

“Fantastic! Now if you’ll excuse me, I wanna finish this round of edits before the first bell.” Miss Baggoli forgets about them completely, too busy whispering, “intense,” beneath her breath. 

“No, that wasn’t weird at all,” Matty says once they leave the room. 

“Miss Baggoli is definitely a character, but she wouldn’t teach drama if she wasn’t,” Anna agrees, but in a much nicer way. “Do you have any idea what you want to sing? I can accompany you on the piano if you want. I can go to the library and look up the sheet music.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Matty asks. “If it’s because you have a thing for me, I’m flattered, but—”

“No!” Anna’s entire face crinkles. “I mean, you’re great! Sandy’s a lucky girl. It’s not like that…” Anna plays with a thick lock of her hair, so nervous he regrets opening his dumb mouth before thinking. “It’s just...I don’t have many friends other than Desmond and the drama club is…”

“Full of Striker worship and theater snobs? I remember.” Matty opens his locker and sees the photos of him and Sandy that line the inside. He wonders if she even has pictures of him on display in her dorm room. She’s in Maryland doing her own thing, living life, and it’s about time he does the same. “Thanks, Anna. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“I’m happy to! Do you have an idea of what you want to sing?”

He has an idea alright.

“What the hell is that?” Francesca stops in front of them and it really shouldn’t surprise him that Kyle is following behind her like a lovesick puppy. “Do you seriously have a shrine to your girlfriend in your locker? Do you have a lock of her hair in there too?”

“What are you two up to?” Kyle looks between him and Anna. “SAT stuff?”

“No,” Matt says. “What are _you two_ up to? SAT stuff?” 

“Are we really ignoring your creepy as fuck locker?” Francesca asks. 

“Why don’t you invite them to lunch?” Anna asks Matty. “You could use the moral support.” 

“Moral support for what?” Kyle asks. 

“I, uh, I’m auditioning for the musical,” Matty answers. Kyle grins like he’s happy for him or something. Weirdo. “Dude, don’t make it weird. I’ll probably just help out backstage or wherever I’m needed and piss off the tech kids when I get in their way. It’s something to do so...”

“Awesome,” Kyle says. “I’ll be there at lunch.”

“I won’t,” Francesca says. "Count me out."   


“Of course you won’t,” Anna mutters. 

“What was that?” Francesca crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. It really is the SAT meeting all over again when it comes to these two. 

“I’m just saying, of course the very person who brought up trust within a study group refuses to even support the group,” Anna says. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” 

Oh shit! If looks could kill… 

Francesca dramatically rolls her eyes and walks away without another word. 

“Francesca, wait up!” Kyle starts to chase after her. “Don’t worry, I’ll convince her. I’ll see you guys at lunch. Break a leg!”

“It’s at the auditorium!” Anna shouts after him. “Start of lunch!” 

“Did you really mean to invite them or was that purely to mess with Francesca?” Matty asks.

“Messing with Francesca was more in the moment, but it’ll be good for you to have a live audience. I’ll invite Desmond and Roy if I see him. If you can’t show your SAT group the real you then who can you?” 

“Ugh, that’s so cheesy it’s something Kyle would say.” 

Anna smiles. “Okay, so what are you going to sing?” 

***

Matty doesn’t know where his love for the stage came from. 

His mom loves to tell stories about what a goofy child he was, mimicking the baseball announcers on TV and having the best games of make-believe with his cousins. They would run around the backyard and he would be a prince rushing in to slay a dragon and rescue the villagers. _My son has the biggest imagination_ , his mom would brag. He would sing along with her as she played the piano or fixed supper. 

He only agreed to join the drama club because Sandy pouted and batted her eyes and he was new to the boyfriend gig so he couldn’t say no. That’s also how he ended up on the cheerleading squad for all of junior year, but that isn’t something he cares to remember. It wasn’t fun at all. The conditioning required is no joke! Plays and musicals are much more doable.

Memorizing lines isn’t so bad and his dancing honestly sucks, but he can sing. He has his mom to thank for teaching him his scales. Being an artist in his own way, Kyle supported his foray into the arts. Dave made jokes about him being “whipped” but no one takes Dave seriously. The moment Matty stepped onto the stage for the first time, feeling the heat of the lights, having everyone’s attention, gave him such a rush. Nothing else has come close and if he’s honest with himself, he misses it. 

Matty takes center stage and it feels like seeing an old friend after being away for a long time. True to her word, Anna invited Desmond and Roy who are in the audience along with Kyle and surprisingly, Francesca. Miss Baggoli sips a strange green health juice thing from the front row of theater chairs. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Matthews!” 

Matty takes a deep breath and nods to Anna who’s sitting at the grand piano just off the side of the stage. She begins to play. This is it. This is his moment. 

“ _Stranded at the drive-in_ ,” Matty sings, “ _branded a fool. What will they say Monday at school_?”

The music picks up. Matty nods along, feeling the music, and starts to use more of the stage in a way that feels natural. It’s still so weird that he feels so comfortable up here, but he doesn’t question it. While he’s up here, he’s just a boy who got denied by the girl he loves, channeling that feeling through song. 

“ _Sandy_ ,” he sings, “ _can't you see I'm in misery. We made a start, now we're apart. There's nothing left for me. Love has flown, all alone I sit and wonder why-yi-yi-yi-oh why, you left me. Oh Sandy…”_

The music fades out and Matty slowly comes back to his body. His throat aches and not just from singing. He’s mad at Sandy, he realizes. He’s mad at her and he isn’t sure if he has a right to be mad at her, if he has a right to blame her for his loneliness and his insecurities and his frustration with never being good enough, not for his family or her or the stupid university. Even if she didn’t cheat on him, even if another guy didn’t answer her phone, he’d still be angry about the distance and how he seems so much more invested in their relationship than she does and he’s pretty sure all of that emotion came out in that song just now. 

Matty’s head pops up with a sheepish smile and finds Miss Baggoli staring with her mouth open and wiping at her eyes with an actual handkerchief. 

“Sorry, it was short notice so that’s all I got,” he says. 

Miss Baggoli shoots up out of her seat and claps her hands. “Bravo, Mr. Matthews! That was wonderful! Why didn’t you come out when we held auditions? I would’ve given you the lead on the spot!”

“I didn’t know what I wanted back then, but I do now,” he answers and realizes, he’s been honest. 

“Well, I’d love for you to help out behind-the-scenes and I want you to audition for our spring production. I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll send Anna after you.” 

“I’d be happy to, miss, thank you.” Matty exits the stage. Anna holds up a hand and he gives her a high-five. “Thanks for the push.” 

“We’ll see how you feel when you see me in stressed stage manager mode.” 

He’s ready, he realizes. He wants to. He wants to feel apart of something again even if it doesn’t include Sandy. 

Once Matty helps Anna put the piano away, they make their way to the back of the auditorium when Striker blocks their path, rolling his tongue between his teeth. 

“Wow. A little birdie told me you were making a desperate play to steal my show, but that song choice?” Striker laughs. “ _Oh, Sandy, Sandy, why don’t you love me_? Can you get any more pathetic, Matthew?” 

“Go away, Striker,” Anna says.

“Oh, and still standing behind a girl,” Striker sneers. “Well, isn’t that so like you.” 

“Say whatever you want, Striker. I don’t care.” Matty smiles, easily the easiest smile he’s worn in weeks. “Enjoy your time in the spotlight. We’ll see how long it’s yours.” 

“You’ll regret those words real soon,” Strike says.

“Ignore him.” Anna walks past Striker and drags Matty along behind her by his sleeve. He doesn’t like the smug expression on Strikers face, can’t get it out of his head even when they meet up with the rest of the SAT group out in the hallway. 

“Did she really make you sing just to let you paint sets and shit?” Francesca asks. “That’s clearly an abuse of power.” 

“What did you guys think of Matty’s performance?” Anna asks. 

“Meh, you’re no Travolta,” Roy says, “but not bad.” 

“That was one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever seen,” Desmond says flatly, “but surprisingly, my ears didn’t bleed.”

Anna smacks Desmond on the arm. “I think it was brave of him.” 

“You were great, Matty.” Kyle’s soft eyes suggest he wants to say more, probably ask about the inspiration behind his song choice, but has enough tact to not embarrass him in front of everyone else. 

Mr. Dooling clears his throat, evidently pissed. “You’re all together. How convenient. All six of you, follow me. _Now_. Mr. Matthews, I’m going to need to search your locker.”

“My locker? Why?”

“And why are the rest of us involved exactly?” Francesca asks. 

“I’ll answer your questions after we search your locker. The six of you, let’s go.” 

They follow Mr. Dooling down the hallway in tense silence, exchanging confused looks between them. What the hell could this be about? As far as he knows, no one did anything stupid. Everyone else seems just as confused as him except Francesca who’s her usual cold, indifferent self. Once they arrive, Matty enters his combination and Mr. Dooling pries the metal door open with urgency. 

They all peer inside and where did that cardboard pet carrier come from? It even has small, uniform holes in it for the animals to breath. Animals? That hadn’t been there when Matty traded out a few books before heading to the auditorium. His stomach was in knots, nervous about the performance, but even in a distracted state, he would have noticed if that was there, right? He would have heard the soft chirping of birds inside even if he was in a rush, right?

Mr. Dooling gently undoes the interlocking pieces that form the carrier’s handle, peers inside and cries out in relief. 

Roy laughs. “Aw, shit. I didn’t know a human being could make that sound.” 

“Here’s the situation, children,” Mr. Dooling says. “At six o’clock this morning I reported to my office like I do every day and noticed my two beloved lovebirds gone from their cage. Shortly after, I received an anonymous tip that my birds could be found in Mattew’s locker and that all six of you were involved in the kidnapping.” 

Once his accusation sinks in, everyone starts talking at once! Each desperate to clear their name. 

“Silence!” Mr.Dooling bellows. “Stealing the personal property of a teacher has steep consequences.”

“I didn’t steal your birds!” Matty shouts. “I’m being framed!” 

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Matthews. We have policies in place that could get you suspended. I could file criminal charges!”

“Mr. Dooling, I’m sure this is just one big misunderstanding,” Anna says smoothly. “Matty would never do that. How would he have had access to your office and gotten in and out without getting caught? I was with Matty all this morning in the drama classroom and the library, which Miss Baggoli and Mrs. Bloomberg and a bunch of other people can confirm. All six of us were in the auditorium with Miss Baggoli at lunch.”

“I’m disappointed, Miss Ross,” Mr. Dooling sighs, “I don’t know why you would get involved with this group. You can tell me if Mr. Matthews is pressuring you to lie for him and be his alibi. I assure you a blemish on your perfect record isn’t worth a schoolyard crush.”

“No!” Anna crinkles her entire face again. “I mean, no offense, Matty. Again.”

“None taken, Anna. Again.”

“You could use the security cameras to see who the real culprit is and clear this whole thing up real fast,” Francesca suggests. “Unless they’re fakes the school set up purely to create the illusion that we’re being watched, using fear tactics to keep us in line. Dummy cameras opposed to maintaining real ones must save quite a bit of the budget that can then go toward giving the teacher bonuses, isn’t that right, Mr. Dooling?” 

“Oh my God,” Matty groans, “you aren’t helping the situation!” 

“What happened to you, Ms. Curtis?” Mr. Dooling asks. “You used to be such a nice girl.”

“Mr. Dooling.” Kyle steps up with a nervous, apologetic expression on his face. “You got us all wrong. Why would we want to take your birds? Why would anyone want to take your birds? I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re really nice birds, but still, they’re just birds…?”

Mr. Dooling’s face goes red with anger like he’s personally offended on behalf of his birds. “I don’t know, Mr. Jamison. As an elaborate senior prank maybe. To sell my precious angels for quick cash.” 

“Nah, lovebirds aren’t even that expensive compared to other larger birds like, say, parrots,” Roy says. “And if it was me, I’d definitely nab that swanky gold birdcage you keep them in along with the birds, not keep ‘em in a happy meal box.” 

“Roy, shut up!” Matty shouts. “Not! Helping!” 

“Mr. Dooling.” Desmond steps forward. “I had nothing to do with this so can I go?” 

“Nice, Rhodes,” Matty scoffs. “What happened to all that shit you said about being a team?” 

“Man, I’m not going down for something I had nothing to do with.”

“I didn’t do this either!” Matty shouts. “How do you think I feel?” 

Suddenly, everyone starts talking over each other again and Mr. Dooling closes his eyes and tilts his chin to the ceiling. He counts to five and then shouts, “ENOUGH! Saturday detention, _all of you_! Mr. Matthews, you’re coming with me. We’re calling your parents right now.” 

Matty has no other choice, but to follow Mr. Dooling who keeps peeking into the pet box, cooing and baby-talking to his birds. His day just went from awful to weirdly cathartic to an unthinkable pile of shit, leaving him feeling completely helpless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That audition song choice makes me cringe, but it was too perfect. Her name is Sandy! Francesca said she wanted a Breakfast Club moment so we're going full Breakfast Club next chapter! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	13. Sacrifice & Truth

The weather takes a drastic turn on Saturday morning.

There’s a bitter cold chill in the air, so much so Kyle’s mom reminded him to bundle up twice before he left the house. The gray, overcast sky and freezing cold wind provide the perfect backdrop for having to spend a Saturday in detention for a crime none of them committed. 

When Kyle taps on the window of Francesca’s classic blue convertible, she puts out her cigarette and joins him out in the cold. He offers her a to-go cup of coffee that she snatches out of his hand greedily. 

“Wow, you might actually be a saint.” Francesca blows softly on the mouth of the lid. 

“Francesca Curtis, not a morning person—confirmed.” Kyle smiles as she draws her chin down into the dark gray knit scarf around her neck. “Want my extra breakfast sandwich?” 

“This is detention, Kyle, not a picnic.” Francesca takes a small sip of coffee and makes a deeply satisfied sound that makes him feel warm inside or maybe it’s just that cold out. “Coffee’s good. You could’ve got like, gummy bears too.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kyle stares up at the school that seems eerily deserted. “I’ve never been to Saturday detention before, but we might as well make the most of it.”

“Do I even want to know what you’re planning?” 

“You said you wanted a Breakfast Club moment, didn’t you?” 

Francesca scowls into her coffee cup, knocks into his shoulder with hers and stays there. They just kind of stand together with her kind of leaning into him and Kyle’s more than happy to feel her warmth against him. Again, he’ll happily blame the cold. Kyle eats his breakfast and Francesca sips her coffee in the comfortable silence he’s come to associate with her. 

They haven’t talked about what this is, not that he’d even know how to initiate that conversation. Kyle just assumes this is what it’s like to be Francesca’s friend. He’s pretty sure trying to get her to consider anything more, God forbid _talk about it_ , could ruin everything. He doesn’t want to scare her away by wanting more than he ought to. He can’t jeopardize the heist just because he wants to hold a girl’s hand and take her out on cliché dates and make her happy. It’s a selfish want and selfishness will spoil everything. 

Matty joins them soon after, hands deep in his pockets, eyes on the ground. “Don’t let me interrupt whatever this is.” 

Kyle shifts away, putting a respectable distance between him and Francesca, and tosses Matty his second breakfast sandwich. His best friend, who’s been down ever since the lovebird incident, is more than happy to inhale it. 

“I guess this means you weren’t suspended for avian abduction,” Francesca says. 

“Yeah, well, after Dooling called in the principal and both of my parents, they argued for a whole fucking hour. Since there wasn’t any solid evidence I did shit, my punishment was downgraded to Saturday detention for the next month.”

“I’m sorry, Matty,” Kyle says. 

“Don’t be sorry. Help me get even. I’m sure it was Striker! He messaged me on Myspace last night and taunted me about the stupid birds. I don’t know how yet, but I’m getting him back and getting even.” 

“One covert mission at a time, alright,” Kyle says. 

A mom mobile with a Brown University license plate frame pulls up to the steps leading into the school. The blonde woman behind the wheel talks emphatically with her hands flailing in the air. Anna sits in the passenger seat, head bowed, taking it. 

“Yikes,” Matty says.

Kyle leans over to Francesca and whispers, “Looks like you aren’t alone in the crappy parents department.” 

Her lips tense, but she doesn’t say anything. 

They wait a few minutes after the mom mobile drives off before casually making their way to the front of the school. Anna has that same lost expression on her face from the day of the SAT. Kyle places a warm hand on Anna’s shoulder and gives her what he hopes is an equally warm smile. 

“Where’s Rhodes?” Matty asks. “Don’t tell me the school superstar got out of this.” 

“I’m right here,” Desmond says from behind them. Matty nearly jumps out of his skin. This always happens to him. “Man, why are you so obsessed with me?” 

“I just thought you’d be too embarrassed to show your face after you tried to throw all of us under the bus if it meant saving your own ass,” Matty replies. 

“Don’t talk like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing.” 

“Hey! Detention buddies!” Roy arrives with a gas station burrito in one hand, big smile on his face like he’s walking through the front gates of Disney World and not detention. “What’d I miss? Are we having fun yet?”

“Can we please just go to the auditorium like we’re supposed to,” Anna says, probably desperate to forget what just happened, what half of the group just witnessed. “Miss Baggoli is supervising detention this week so I have an idea what she’s going to make us do to pass the time.” 

Building and painting props for the musical. What else?

After taking attendance, Miss Baggoli has them lay out a thick canvas drop cloth over the entire auditorium stage and puts them to work. Kyle feels like a kid in a candy store, happy to construct Roman columns out of foam and cut out a giant sun and moon from sheets of plywood with a handsaw. Matty “helps” him, but mostly stands around and acts like he’s busy. Desmond and Francesca paint trees while Anna has Roy model the Puck costume so she can figure out how to attack the glittery fairy wings. 

“You’re doing fabulous, children! Just fabulous! Carry on while I run to my office very quickly! Anna, you’re in charge!” Miss Baggoli leaves so fast it’s obvious she wants to be here as much as they do. 

“She writes erotic Lord of the Rings fanfiction and posts it on the internet,” Francesca tells them. “She’s probably going to see if it got any new reviews.” 

“Tell me more,” Roy says. 

“No,” Matty says. “Please don’t.” 

“Why do you care?” Anna narrows her eyes at Francesca. “What do you get out of knowing and exposing everyone?” 

“The truth, occasionally blackmail and leverage,” Francesca answers. To which, Roy nods. 

“Did you know that Annette Prestolani got so depressed after she found out her boyfriend cheated on her from your web page that she didn’t come to school for like a week?” Anna asks. “You don’t feel even a little bad about it?” 

“You don’t feel bad that literally everyone knew he was cheating on her and no one, not even her supposed ‘friends’ said anything to her?” Francesca counters. “She was so ‘in love’ with him she wouldn’t have believed them anyway so I got proof. It’s always better to know the truth even if it hurts than have someone who’s supposed to ‘love’ you make you look like an idiot.” 

“Is that what Ben did to you?” Matty asks. “Is that why you’re so bitter, Francesca?” 

“How do you know Ben?” Her wide, fearful eyes turn to Kyle. “Did you tell him?”

“What? No!” Kyle hates the sudden distrust written all over her face. “I don’t even know what there is to tell…?” He does know he needs to de-escalate the situation before things have the chance to implode entirely. “Let’s just drop it and get back to work, okay?” 

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Most of them try to ignore it. Anna gets Matty caught up on the musical and Desmond scolds Roy about a million times about almost getting paint on his Air Jordans, but Francesca closes in on herself, distances herself from the others. This isn’t the mandatory weekend bonding Kyle imagined, but he doesn’t know how to fix it either. Who is he kidding? He isn’t a leader. He has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Well, I’m bored,” Roy declares, flopping onto the canvas drop cloth flecked with paint. “We should play a game! How about truth or dare?” Everyone groans, unafraid to voice their distaste. “What? Don’t tell me you’re all afraid of a little game!” Roy starts flapping his arms like a chicken and clucking.

“Why not,” Kyle mutters, setting his paintbrush aside. “I’m in.”

“Seriously?” Matty pulls a face. “We aren’t thirteen-year-old girls at a slumber party.” 

Kyle laughs. “Matty’s just mad about the time Dave dared him to—”

“KYLE, SHUT UP!”

“No,” Desmond says, “I wanna hear this.” 

“Fine, let’s play,” Francesca says. “Matty, truth or dare?” 

“Why do you get to ask first,” Roy grumbles. “It was my idea.”

Ignoring him, Matty’s expression turns cautious. “I know you want me to choose truth, but you’re definitely the type of person who’ll dare me to drink bleach so truth it is I guess.”

“What do you think you know and who told you about Ben?” 

Matty rolls his eyes. “That’s so boring.”

“I disagree,” Roy says. “It sounds juicy!”

“That sounds like two questions.” Matty holds up two fingers. “And are you sure you want me to answer the first one in front of everyone?” He tilts his head in Kyle’s direction specifically. 

“Who told you?” Francesca asks. 

“I overheard some guys gossiping at the water cooler when we did recon in your dad’s building. I wasn’t even sure they were talking about you, but your reaction kind of confirms it. See, wouldn’t it suck if I posted about this on some stupid web page?”

Francesca raises a single eyebrow. “Are you wasting your turn on that question?” 

Matty laughs and shakes his head. “Desmond, truth or dare?” 

“I didn’t say I was playing your stupid game.”

“Come on, we have nothing better to do. Think of it as a team building exercise.”

Desmond narrows his eyes. “Truth.”

“Boring!” Roy flops onto his back. 

“What happened to declaring for the NBA draft?”

“It’s not because I didn’t get any offers or won’t get drafted if that’s what you're thinking. I would. My mom wants me to go to college first, get a degree and all that.”

“Boring, boring, boring.” Roy kicks his legs back and forth like a petulant child throwing a tantrum in the toy aisle. “Dare me to do something!”

“Roy,” Desmond says, “I dare you to strip and do a lap around the football field.”

Everyone else reacts with varying degrees of disgust, but Roy happily climbs to his feet and claws his way out of the toga-like Puck costume. He kicks a shoe off and it goes flying into a finished tree, knocking it over. Next he shrugs out of his layered shirts and his beanie goes off with them. Roy proudly drops his baggy jeans, revealing Dragon Ball Z boxers. He turns to face the empty auditorium seats, hands on his hips, his back to the rest of the group. 

“Time me!” Roy drops his boxers, giving everyone a glimpse of his flat, pale ass, before he takes off running. Anna quickly shuts her eyes. Matty cringes. Francesca mutters, “Ew.” 

“I know the dude is crazy, but that’s something else.” Desmond glances down at his wristwatch. “Damn, we’ve only been here for an hour?” 

Anna smacks Desmond on the arm. “Why would you make him do that?”

“He asked,” Desmond says defensively. “He coulda said no, but he decided to strip anyway. He’s got free will, Anna.”

“That was more of Roy than any of us needed in our lives,” Matty adds. 

Once Roy returns, shivering and complaining about his nipples being frozen, to everyone’s relief, he has a knapsack covering his bare groin. Roy reaches into the knapsack and pulls out a yearbook. Not just any yearbook. It’s a yearbook from their freshman year. 

“Where did you even get that?” Matty asks. 

“How many times do I have to tell you people that I’m The Ghost! Just go with it!” Roy can’t get back into his layers and layers of clothes fast enough. “Who’s first?” 

“Curtis.” Kyle takes the yearbook and starts flipping through the pages to their class. When she shoots him a glare, he raises his hands innocently. “It’s alphabetical! Plus, I bet I’ll win the loser contest hands down. I was a mess.”

“Was?” Francesca shifts closer to him, close enough for their arms to touch. 

He smiles when he finds fourteen-year-old Francesca Curtis with shoulder-length blonde hair held back by a white headband, smiling fully at the camera. 

“Wow, you were actually pretty cute,” Matty says. “And so normal. What happened?”

“Fuck you too.” Francesca steals the yearbook away and can’t flip to the next page fast enough. “Your turn, Jamison. Alphabetically speaking.”

Other than Francesca, Kyle might have changed the most. In his photo, he has a full-on bowl-cut and braces. Both Matty and Roy howl with laughter, pointing to the shark tooth necklace he’s wearing. Definitely deserving of the loser award. 

Matty and Anna basically look the same, just younger in their photos. He also had braces and her hair was even frizzier back then. Desmond was already 6’5” at age fourteen and went on to grow another four inches. There isn’t even a photo of Roy in there, just a gray box next to his name. It’s somehow fitting. 

“We were babies,” Kyle says fondly. “Guys, we’re graduating. I don’t think it’s really hit me yet.”

Everyone groans. Matty throws plastic flowers at his best friend and Kyle tries to bat them away or at least make sure they don’t hit Francesca. 

“You would be the sentimental type.” Francesca shoulders into him again. “Gross.”

“I’m just as eager to graduate as the rest of you, but you have to admit it’s going to be weird not having to come here every week,” Kyle says. “No more having to wake up early to get here to fight for parking. No more Chili Cheese Fries Fridays in the caf.” 

“No more stupid academic torture sessions with Dooling,” Matty says. “No more stressing about prom proposals. No more musicals, organized by the school anyway.” 

Francesca looks at Anna. “No more using the yearbook to get away with coming to class late or to get out early.” 

“No more Davenport Lie School,” Anna shoots back. 

“No more pep rallies and pretending they make a difference,” Desmond says with relief. “Thank God.” 

“Um, I’m pretty sure they have pep rallies in college,” Anna says apologetically. 

“Midnight Madness is like our pep rallies on crack,” Roy says matter-of-factly. “Oh, I got one! No more having to fake an injury to get outta gym class!”

“Just think about it, guys, Thanksgiving is this coming week,” Kyle says. “Soon it’ll be Christmas, then spring break, prom, graduation. Time is crazy. It’s going to come at us fast, but once we get through this, we don’t have to look back. Same with the heist.” 

“Yeah, yeah, same ol’, same ol’, can we get back to our game now please? It’s my turn to ask!” Roy twiddles his thumbs, eyes glinting with mischief as he seeks out his first victim. “Anna fanna banana, truth or dare?” 

Anna straightens her posture with confidence. “Dare.”

“Remember what we talked about on Wine Tasting Tuesday?” Roy produces a joint from a little tin can meant to carry mints and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Francesca laughs. “The poster child for the war on drugs? This I’ve got to see.”

Kyle shakes his head. “Roy, cut it out. Put that away.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Desmond asks. “Why would you even bring that to detention? Anna, you’ve got nothing to prove to this loser or to any of these people.” 

“Desmond’s right,” Kyle agrees. “Anna—”

“Uh, I dared Anna, not either of you,” Roy points out. “Don’t talk over her. She can answer for herself. No pressure or anything, Rossy. After all, it’s just a stupid game of truth or dare.” 

“Yeah,” Francesca agrees. “She has her own free will too.”

Anna purses her lips, staring at the joint. “How do I do it?” 

Roy scoots across the stage floor in the most unflattering way possible. “You don’t light and inhale at the same time like with cigarettes. First, you gotta roast it and make sure it’s evenly lit all around like a beautiful, toasty marshmallow.” 

Roy demonstrates, rotating the joint with the tip against the flame of his lighter. 

Matty groans and starts to walk off the stage. “I just dodged one suspension. I’m not getting dragged to the principal’s office for something I didn’t do _again_. I’ll watch the door.”

“Now you just take a steady hit and exhale slowly,” Roy explains, handing the joint to Anna. “If it’s your first time, you’ll probably cough. That’s normal. No need to feel embarrassed or whatever.” 

Anna brings the tip to her lips and inhales, predictably erupting in coughs. Roy cheers her on and Kyle swoops in to hand her a bottle of water. When Roy prompts her to do it again and again, she does, slower and eventually she’s able to holds it in longer. Anna grows more comfortable, more confident, but still remains uncertain, skeptical. 

“Nice. You did it!” Roy takes the joint from her so he can take a hit himself. “Now just give it a few minutes and see how you feel. This strain is the good shit so it doesn’t take much to get high.”

Anna takes a sip of water. “I don’t feel any different.”

It isn’t long before Anna starts to loosen, going boneless like she might melt into the floor if she weren’t leaning against Desmond, touching the waxy pedals of the fake flowers he’s using to try to make a crown for one of the fairy costumes. Having smoked a lot more than her, he has to with his tolerance level, Roy’s on his back staring up at the rafters, giggling at nothing. Both useless. 

Matty groans. “How much longer until we can leave?” 

“It’s 9:30,” Kyle answers what was probably a rhetorical question. “We’ve got another two and a half hours of quality time together.”

“Joy,” Francesca says sarcastically. “I can’t believe I’m doing manual labor for the drama department while the detention monitor gets high.” 

“Okay, let’s do this,” Anna says lazily. “We have nothing better to do and can’t leave. Let’s just air it all out right here and now! What’s your problem with me, Francesca?” 

“ _This_ I’ve gotta see.” Matty’s more than happy to abandon his work and watch the show. 

“No problem,” Francesca replies. 

“So you’re totally unaware of your whole ‘I’m Francesca Curtis, I’m not like other girls’ _thing_ and your web page isn’t some kind of coping mechanism to deal with your superiority complex or whatever?” Anna waves her hands around in the air as she talks. “How can you be all about the truth except your own?” 

“I don’t think I’m better than other girls, you, anyone. I just see clearer,” Francesca says. “My ‘truth’ isn’t that deep. Apparently I wasn’t so fun to be around when my parents were getting divorced. My ‘friends’ at the time, all they cared about was who’s dating who and who’s wearing what. It’s all so superficial and pointless and so not as perfect as they want everyone to think. I remind them from time to time on my web page. That’s all.” 

Silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Anna says. “About your parents.” 

“I’m not. At least now I don’t have to hear them screaming at each other all the time.” 

“I don’t know how my parents don’t feel like screaming all the time,” Anna says very quietly. Her eyes glaze over, reality dragging her down from her high. “ _I_ feel like screaming. All. The. Time. My parents expect me to be perfect _all the time_ and all they care about is me getting into Brown. They’ve never even asked what I want.” 

“Neither did my mom,” Desmond says. “I don’t even know if I wanna go to college, but I already know how she’ll react if I say I don’t. I know all she wants is for me to get an education so I can get a job just in case basketball falls through, but if I suck at high school, the hell am I gonna do in college classes?” 

“At least your parents want you to go to college,” Matty says. “Every time I tell my parents I want to go to Maryland, they laugh and...they don’t believe I can do it. I wish I had a guaranteed career path based on my talent. Kyle, you have your architecture. Desmond, the NBA’s fucking waiting, man. Roy, you might have to wait until they legalize marijuana to get the most out of your talent.”

“He’s a decent coder,” Francesca says. Just a fact. 

“Aw, shucks.” Roy grabs his heart, rocking back and forth. 

“My whole life, I was never good at anything,” Matty says. “Then I started dating Sandy and I was _great_ at being her boyfriend. At least I had that going for me, but now, I feel like she has this whole other life that she loves and I’m not a part of and there might be some other guy… Where does that leave me?” 

“I could find out for you if you really want to know, about the other guy,” Anna says. 

“How?” Matty asks. 

“You have her dorm room number, right?” When Matty nods, Anna continues, “I just call, ask to talk to her roommate, pretend to be one of their classmates and say, by the way, is your roommate going out with that cute guy from across the hall? Either she says, ‘no, her boyfriend doesn’t go here’ or...she says something else.”

“How do you know to do that?” Kyle asks. 

Anna blushes and laughs nervously. “I mean, it just makes sense right? Anyway! Matty, you need to be sure you want to know the truth because once you do, there’s no going back.”

Matty doesn’t answer, but Kyle can tell he’s really thinking hard about it. 

“It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know,” Desmond says. “That stuff you said about wanting to make a career outta your talent. Sometimes I think that if I wasn’t as NBA-ready as everyone says I am then maybe I’d love it more.”

“You don’t love basketball anymore?” Anna asks with big, sad eyes. 

“I love basketball and I always will,” Desmond assures her, “but it isn’t the same, not when I think about trying to make money off of it, enough money that my family’s set for life. That’s why this SAT thing is so important. It isn’t just for my future, but my mom and my brother too.”

“That’s why we’re going to do everything we can to pull this off,” Kyle says. “We all have people counting on us and people we want to prove wrong. Now that we have the chance and a plan, we just need to trust that and get it done.”

“I agree,” Anna says. “I’m also starving. Is anyone else starving?” 

Roy pulls a bag of chips out of his knapsack. It has a series of Korean characters in a fun balloon font on the foil front. 

Anna happily opens the bag and starts munching. “If you could do anything with your life and money was no object, what would you do?” 

“When I was a kid I’d play Street Fighter 2 for hours,” Roy says with the biggest, childlike grin on his face. “Blanca was like, half-human, half-lizard and would eat his opponent! Zaps ‘em with lightning! Bite their face off! I remember being like, whoa, people get paid to do this? That was the trippiest thing to me.”

“So you’d design video games,” Anna says. 

“No,” Roy says. “I’d like to be Blanca.”

The most Roy answer _ever_. 

“Build my dream house that I’ve been working on in my head since I was seven, a repurposed lighthouse or abandoned fire station or something,” Kyle says. “Coach in a Little League world championship and get a dog. What about you, Matty?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Acting?” Anna suggests before chomping on a chip. 

“As opposed to solving world hunger or curing a terminal disease?” Francesca asks.

“That’s what you’d do?” Anna asks. 

“I would run a no-kill animal shelter or I’d...just be a mom.” Francesca clutches the edges of her skirt between her fists. “Not just a mother. I would be a real mom. You know, one who cared more about the title of parent than the one on her business card…” When the silence feels too heavy, Francesca shrugs. “Or porn.” 

“How are my little woodland worker fairies?” Miss Baggoli surprises everyone with an entrance from stage left. If Francesca’s even a little worried the dramatist overheard her, she doesn’t show it. She’s just so cool. 

“Did she just call us woodland worker fairies?” Desmond asks. 

“It’s a Shakespeare thing,” Anna assures him. “They mostly create chaos and advance the plot.” 

“Mr. Jamison, these set pieces are just how I imagined them!” Miss Baggoli coos, dancing around the trees set out to dry. “You might have to get detention more often.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy to help,” Kyle says sheepishly. 

With Miss Baggoli back in the auditorium, writing in her little notebook and gnawing on the end of her pen, everyone goes back to working with little conversation between them. The room feels a lot less tense. If they all understand each other a little more and can work in comfortable silence then maybe today wasn’t such a waste. 

Kyle spends the rest of detention dry brushing tree trunks, adding highlights for texture and making them look more like real bark. He likes working with power tools, but painting can be soothing. Every now and then, he checks on Francesca. There’s something he wants to ask her, but she’d probably appreciate it if he didn’t do it in front of the group. 

Being a benevolent overseer, Miss Baggoli lets them start cleaning up a good thirty minutes before they’re officially allowed to leave. 

“I’ve been thinking and what about opening night?” Kyle asks in a hushed tone. “After the musical. There’s always a huge afterparty, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Anna says. “I’ve never been…”

“Yeah, the Riley twins are hosting this year,” Matty replies. “They invited me while we were digging through the storage closet looking for the fairy wings. They said my DJ-ing skills won’t be needed.”

“Burn,” Roy laughs. 

“That’s perfect!” Kyle grows excited, finally able to see all of the pieces of his plan falling into place. “We’ll all go to the musical then the afterparty, hang out for a bit, make sure we’re seen, talk to everyone, and when everyone’s wasted, we sneak off, get it done, go back to the party and it’s like we never left. Built-in alibi.” 

“Cool, now let’s hit the diner!” Roy suggests. “I want pork roll pancakes!” 

“I’m in,” Anna says. Desmond’s a step behind her and when she gives him a beaming smile, he isn’t about to disagree. 

While Roy lists his top fifteen favorite dishes at the diner, Kyle notices Francesca sneaking off and follows her to where their cars are parked side-by-side. 

“Should I even bother asking if you want to come to lunch with us?” Kyle asks. 

“Can’t. I have somewhere I have to be, things to do.”

“Okay,” Kyle says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Thank you for sharing back there. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. I think it made it easier for everyone else to take your lead and open up too.” 

“Like I said, it’s not that deep.” Francesca unlocks her car. 

“And, uh, before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask...”

“So ask.” Francesca leans against the side of her car and crosses her arms impatiently. “If it’s about whatever Matty thinks he knows…”

“If it won’t affect the heist then you don’t need to tell me or anyone if you don’t want to,” Kyle assures her, and he means that. He’s spent enough time with her to know who she is, that he can trust her, and that’s all that matters to him. 

“Then what is it?”

Kyle smirks. “Truth or dare?” 

Francesca huffs out a laugh and it’s nearly cold enough to see her breath. “Seriously?” 

“Unless you’re scared.”

She ducks her head and plays with a lock of her hair in a way that reminds him of the night of the party in her bedroom. He’s tempted to describe it as _almost shy_ , but when she meets his eyes, it’s with a cool determination he’s come to associate with her and only her. 

“Dare,” she says.

“Spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.” 

“What?” Her lips twist to one side and her brow furrows. 

“I mean, unless you already have plans.” Kyle starts to backpedal and his heart starts to beat a little harder. His skin feels sweaty against the cold fall air. “Shit. I shouldn’t’ve assumed…” 

“You shouldn’t, but you assumed right....” She’s hesitant, but hasn’t rejected the idea just yet. Hope twists in his gut. “You really want me at your family gathering?” 

“My mom makes a huge feast every year, but it’s usually just me, my parents, my brother. There will definitely be pie. I can promise you that much.”

“I do like pie.”

“So say yes. Unless you’re chicken.” Kyle imitates Roy, flapping his arms like wings, but without the full-on strut. He doubts anyone, but Roy could pull that off. 

“If you’re only asking because you feel sorry for me…” 

“No, it’s not like that,” Kyle assures her. “Trust me, I...I want you to come. It’ll be fun.” 

He stops breathing as he waits for her to answer, helplessly watching her chew it over and literally bite her bottom lip. Kyle catches himself staring at her mouth not for the first time and shifts his eyes to his shoes instead. 

“Okay,” she says. “Thursday, right?”

“Okay? Okay!” He tries not to sound too excited and fails judging by the way Francesca averts her eyes and laughs. Kyle opens her car door for her. “Yeah, Thursday. Um, I’ll text you what time to come over. Wait, you prefer email, right? I’ll email you.”

“You’re something else, Jamison.”

He tilts his head to one side. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“We’ll see.” That’s all she says before getting into her car and shutting her door. Always so mysterious.

Kyle’s aware of the stupid grin on his face as he watches her drive away. What-the-fuck-ever. He’s proud of his stupid grin! Francesca said yes! The group is a little closer after today. Understanding is the foundation of trust. They can build on today as they get ready for the heist. He tells himself that progress outweighs the sacrifices he has and will have to make. 

***

His mom calls and asks him to pick up a few groceries on his way home and so Kyle ends up at Clyde’s Market. Of course the one time he’s in here, Dave’s working. Kyle nearly walks back out, fight or flight at its finest, but Dave sees him and nods. Too late. 

Kyle turns into a random aisle and collects the items on his mom’s list one by one. He figures since he’s here he might as well get something for his trouble, grabs a Red Bull and a bag of cool ranch Doritos. He thinks about Francesca and tosses a bag of gummy bears into the cart too. 

“Hey,” Dave says when Kyle gets to the register. It’s the only register open. Just his luck. “Did you just get out of detention?”

“Yup.” Kyle lines up his items on the conveyor belt. 

Dave’s eyes shift around the mostly empty store with caution. “I hope it was worth it. If Matty ever finds out I was the one who put the birds in his locker, he’s going to be _pissed_.” 

“Then it’s a good thing Matty’s never going to find out, right, Dave?” 

“As long as you make good on your word.” 

Kyle frowns. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? I’m not blind or stupid. Every time I see Francesca at school now, you’re right there with her. What do you even talk about?”

“We’re friends.”

“She doesn’t have friends.”

“Well, now she does, Dave.” Kyle can feel his anger building and building and tells himself to rein it in. “Nothing’s going on between me and Francesca.” He purses his lips. “And nothing will. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	14. Stun & Trample

Francesca doesn’t do Thanksgiving. What is there to give thanks for? Lies and Genocide? No thanks.

When she was younger and her parents would host Thanksgiving it was more of a _soirée_ than a family gathering. Her mother would hire a private chef to provide high-end versions of traditional dishes and all of her father’s business associates and their trophy wives would attend and kiss ass. Now, her father has an all-day golfing tradition and Francesca’s going to Kyle Jamison’s house. 

When asked how fancy Thanksgiving is, Kyle told her “it’s not” and to dress “comfortably.” Whatever that means. After much debate, she decides on a plain black top under her favorite leather jacket and her favorite pair of red pants. She wears her hair down and applies her daily armor— bold, black eyeliner and a bright red lip.

When Kyle opens the front door, wearing a baseball tee and joggers, he seems surprised like maybe he thought she wouldn’t show after all, but smiles, happy to see her and she believes it. When he offers to take her leather jacket, she lets him this time around. Kyle introduces her to his dad, Lawrence Jamison, who’s awake this time, stationed in his recliner reading the New York Times and watching football. 

“Is he paying you to be here?” Mr. Jamison asks her. 

“Dad!” Kyle shouts. “Not cool!”

“What? Your mom made me watch a movie like that last night and why else would a girl hang out with _you_?” Mr. Jamison hides his shit-eating grin behind the rim of his coffee mug. “Do you drink coffee, Francesca? I made the coffee. It’s really good today. Don’t let anyone else take credit.”

“And that’s the only thing you’ve done in this kitchen!” Mrs. Jamison shouts. 

Francesca follows Kyle to the kitchen where a million things are going on at once. All of the burners are on, flames licking the bottom of pots and pans. Mrs. Jamison dances around the room, stirring this, chopping that, completely under control. She peers into the oven window and by the sound she makes, she’s pleased with what she sees. 

“Francesca, you made it!” Mrs. Jamison greets her warmly and Francesca isn’t sure why she assumed she might not. “Please have a seat, make yourself at home and excuse the mess!”

“It smells amazing in here.” Francesca sits at the breakfast bar where sugar cookies in the shape of leaves and turkeys cool on wire racks. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. J.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet? You’re always welcome here. Kyle, pour her some coffee!” 

“Pouring.” Kyle does as told and even brings out the milk and sugar so she can dress it herself. She hasn’t told him and doesn’t plan to, but he made her Saturday detention coffee just how she likes it. 

“Do I get a tour of the house this time?” Francesca asks. 

Kyle chuckles. “There isn’t much to see.” 

“I mean, you saw my room. It’s only fair I get to see yours.” 

“Okay, just let me finish cutting the vegetables.” Kyle pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and goes to wash his hands. He helps his mom in the kitchen too. Of course he does.

“Oh, Francesca!” Mrs. Jamison exclaims. “I got your email and I love the concept of your novel! The little excerpt you shared! I am hooked. I need to know how it turns out.”

Kyle’s head pops up with interest. “You email each other?”

“Duh. Keep up, Kyle.” Francesca wraps her fingers around her mug and stares into the dark, steaming liquid. “It’s just a little original fiction. I wanted your mom’s opinion.”

“I love my students, but I’m happy to read something above a grade school reading level from time to time.”

“You don’t think the plot is kind of...lame?” Francesca asks. 

“Not at all,” Mrs. Jamison answers just as Kyle takes a sip of coffee. “I haven’t seen anything like it before and I think it has the potential to reach a lot of teen readers. ‘Six teens put their differences aside and attempt to steal the answers to the SAT.’” 

Eyes wide, taken by surprise, Kyle chokes mid-sip, ending in a spectacular spit take. Kyle runs to the sink amidst a series of coughs. Ugh, even _that_ doesn’t make him any less attractive. Gasping for air, eyes glazed over, Kyle pivots to face Francesca who takes an innocent sip of coffee.

“Mm, your dad was right,” Francesca says. “The coffee’s especially good today.”

***

For as long as he can remember, Desmond’s life has been about balance.

Being the school’s star athlete, the perfect son and the man of the house at home were enough of a juggling act. Now he has to add this SAT thing to the mix. Lately, Desmond has been feeling off-kilter. 

The superstar armor he wears every day is starting to weigh on him, all of the pressure to win from his coaches and teammates, high-fiving randoms and deflecting the advances of popular, forward girls. They only care for his superstar status. He can’t see them being into him purely because of his personality or character. Most days Desmond isn’t sure about his personality or character. 

After Roy interrupted their dinner, his mom just assumes he’s out of the house so much because he’s studying hard. She’s more proud of him now than when he won his first basketball game. His superstar status might not have saved him from serving detention (damn, Mr. Dooling sure loves his birds), but he convinced the principal to not call his mom. He agreed and Desmond Rhodes Euro-stepped to success yet again. It’s just more proof he’s far from the perfect son.

Anna, who’s been his moral compass for years now, tried pot for the first time _at school_. Anna Ross! He knows the stress she’s under and isn’t going to judge her. If she wants to dip her toes in rebellion, he’s going to look out for her and make sure she’s safe while doing it. He needs to keep a clear head at all times because if this heist thing goes sideways, he’s grabbing Anna and getting out of there. She’s family and he’s going to protect her the same way he would his brother. 

“Keyon, get the ball!” Desmond shouts. 

“No!” His nerdy little brother looks up from where he’d been using a magnifying glass to study some weeds growing outside of their apartment complex. “You get it!” 

“No respect around here,” Desmond grumbles beneath his breath. He jogs to retrieve the ball. Dribble, dribble, jab, stepback, shoot. The ball rainbows through the air and clanks off the rim. His outside shot has never been his greatest skill, but that was just plain sad. His concentration just isn’t there.

“Man, how do you expect to earn any respect with that mid-range j?” 

“Uncle Rhodey!” Keyon abandons his made-up science experiment to run up to their uncle who’s always been more like a father figure to them than their biological father. 

James Rhodes, former Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force, carries himself like a man who’s survived some shit. Born and raised in South Philly, he passed his love of the 76ers and everything Philadelphia sports culture onto his nephews, but it stuck more with Desmond than Keyon. 

“What are you doing here?” Desmond asks. 

“It’s Thanksgiving. I thought I might spend it with my family.” Uncle Rhodey retrieves the basketball and bounces it back to Desmond. “Since your mom’s working and I know neither of you can cook.”

“Neither can you,” Desmond retorts. 

“Yeah, and that’s why I picked up a bucket of chicken,” Rhodey says. “But I think we can play a quick game of HORSE first.” 

“I wanna play!” Keyon jumps up and down. “I’m gonna crush the both of you!”

“Your shot doesn’t even touch the rim,” Desmond says. What? It’s true. 

“Neither do your free throws,” Keyon fires back. “Wait till I’m older! I’m gonna posterize you, small head!”

Uncle Rhodey laughs, bent at the knees, hand on his chest. “Those are fighting words, little man! I like it. Come on, start us off, small head.” 

Desmond doesn’t let either of them get to him. That’s a part of being a winner, a part of being the bigger man all the time. They’re just jealous of his height and his head is proportionate to his body. Desmond gives the ball a bounce and sets up for his first shot. 

Even when he has so much going on, so much to juggle, basketball remains constant and unchanging. He can put all of his jumbled thoughts aside long enough to show his mouthy kid brother and his enabling uncle who’s the king of HORSE. 

***

The Matthews house is filled with the scent of his mom’s magical brisket and the sound of his dad and brother shouting at whatever football game is on TV. Matty feels so distant from it all, sprawled out on his bed flipping through the script for A _Midsummer Night's Rockin' Eve_ and trying not to think about Sandy. 

Sandy sent him photos of her and her sorority sisters in the kitchen preparing their Thanksgiving feast. This is their first holiday apart since they started dating.

The first year, they both decided it was too early to do the whole meet-the-family thing, but after having dinner, Matty rode his bike to the park in her neighborhood and they talked and stargazed until curfew. Last year, he put on a tie, his nicest shirt and khaki pants and had dinner with her family. This year, he’s alone.

“Matthew!” his mom calls out from downstairs. “Your friend is here!”

Friend? 

He isn’t expecting anyone. Kyle and his family have their own Thanksgiving tradition. Could it be Dave again? He does have a knack for dropping by unannounced. 

Matty sets his script aside and slips into the Maryland hoodie Sandy sent him for his birthday. Never in a million years would he have expected Roy to be in the kitchen with his mom making her giggle. _Giggle_. 

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Matty asks. 

His mom gasps. “Matthew! Don’t be rude to our guest!” 

“Our guest?” Matty raises his eyebrows behind his bangs. “Funny. I thought guests were _invited_.” 

“Is that any way to talk about your tutor?” his mom asks. Tutor?! “Don’t mind him, Roy. Dinner isn’t quite ready yet, but you two go play and I’ll bring you some snacks.”

Sometimes it’s like his mom doesn’t realize he’s a seventeen-year-old man who’s more than ready to start living the next phase of his life. Unaware or maybe ignoring Matty’s stewing, Roy slides his backpack so it hangs in front of him and pulls out a series of video games. “I got Grand Theft Auto, Madden, and I brought my GameCube.”

“You can stay.” Matty heads to the basement. “Wait. How did you know where I live?”

Roy giggles. “Oh Matthew, why do you ask questions you don’t wanna know the answer to?”

Touché. 

***

Kyle’s room is tidy, more so than what’s normally expected of a teenage boy. There isn’t a single loose article of clothing on the floor and the bed is neatly made. Little model planes, buildings and bridges made out of popsicle sticks and 3D puzzles cover every flat surface. Multiple floating shelves are lined with architecture books, graphic novels and wooden knickknacks. 

More confirmation that the boy who looks like a jock is actually a huge nerd. 

“Did you clean up just for me?” Francesca asks. “Is an avalanche of stuff waiting on the other side of the closet door?” 

“No,” Kyle laughs, “but that’s also where I keep my whips, chains and Old Navy sweaters.”

Francesca bites back a smile and tosses him the DVD she promised to lend him. _Bottle Rocket_. Wes Anderson’s first feature film. Basically a what-not-to-do for a heist. Kyle plays the movie and watches in rapt attention. Francesca has seen it a couple times now so she snoops around Kyle’s drafting table that has little sketches and drawings taped to it along with loose pens and popsicle sticks. Most eye-catching is a motivational post-it that declares, _CORNELL OR BUST!_

“How’s the heist-planning going?” Francesca uncaps a red Sharpie and starts drawing random patterns on a popsicle stick. 

His surprise doesn’t surprise her. She doesn’t voluntarily talk about the heist ever. It’s always Kyle approaching her between classes and sharing his snacks in the library as he talks through his anxious second-guessing. She never initiates or really contributes, but he always seems happy just to have someone listen to his stupid cute rambling. 

“Heist-planning is going well considering none of us have experience in thievery. I keep going through the plan, trying to anticipate ways things might go wrong and options just in case they do.” He pauses the movie on a shot of an open notebook and a plan written in marker. Yeah, this part makes her think of him. “Do you think we should practice jobs? ‘Be able to make errors in a safe environment’ isn’t a bad idea.”

“Any more at my father’s building might be pushing our luck.” Francesca taps her black-painted fingernails against the post-it. “So, Cornell or bust, huh?”

“Yeah, hopefully we pull this off and I won’t have to find out what ‘bust’ means.” Kyle grabs a small notebook and jots something down. Is he really taking notes on the movie? Nerd. 

“No backup plan then?” she asks. 

“Wow. You sound like Mr. Dooling. Are you going to suggest community college next?”

“There’s nothing wrong with community college.” Kyle scoffs so Francesca insists, “It’s classist bullshit to look down on community college. You could save money while banging out pre-req classes, get your credits and transfer to Cornell. You have options.” 

“You would not go to community college.”

“Over Rutgers? I’d definitely consider it.”

Kyle chuckles and flops onto his side on the foot of his bed. “Cornell has been the dream since I was _seven_. I...I guess I don’t know how to let go of that. That’s why I’m doing all of this.”

“I’m not saying you should let go of your dream. If you’re willing to go through all of this, I’m sure you’ll get wherever you want, but like you said, it doesn’t hurt to have multiple options just in case.” 

Seeing how deeply he considers what she has to say takes her by surprise every time. No one ever listens to her, not even when she’s screaming through her web page. The fact that he cares for her opinion, especially a pushy opinion on what he should do with his life, it means more to her than she ever thought possible. 

“What about your options?” He sounds more curious than accusing. “The plot of your novel sounds pretty familiar. Not that I mind! As long as you change names and things like that. My mom is super excited about it.”

“Your mom is cool,” Francesca says. “I’ve never really had anyone, much less an adult, encourage me to write. The fiction stuff is something I’ve only ever done for myself. My web page practically writes itself. Sticking to the facts and the truth has always felt safer…” 

“Knock, knock!” Kyle’s brother hangs onto the door frame and swings into the room. “Mom said to call you and your little friend so we can ea—holy shit! You have a girl in your room!” His eyes practically bulge out of his eye sockets like a cartoon character. “I expected Matty or...Matty.” He leans against the doorframe in a way he thinks is cool and gives her his best bedroom eyes. “‘Sup. I’m Larry, Kyle’s big brother. You were at Wine Tasting Tuesday, right? Why are you hanging out with this loser?” 

“Three for three.” Francesca turns to Kyle. “Your whole family has asked me that.” 

“Duh, because Kyle’s a big dork.” Larry bounces onto the bed next to Kyle, grabs him by the neck and gives him a shake just to be annoying. “Look at him! He could’ve played football, but _no_ , he likes sneaking into mom’s craft room and making things out of pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks.”

Kyle shoves Larry off of him, muttering, “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen Kyle slip his number to girls on popsicle sticks,” Francesca says. “It’s surprisingly smooth.”

“Oh, smooth, huh?” Larry pinches Kyle’s cheek and pulls. 

“Larry, you’re such a dick!” Kyle shouts. “Can you go away now?”

“Fine, fine, but hurry up and get your ass downstairs. I’m hungry!” Larry cackles as he skips out the door. 

Kyle rotates his jaw and rubs his cheek. “You know, you don’t have to try to make me look good in front of my brother.”

“It’s not like I was lying.” Francesca writes “consider alternatives _”_ across a popsicle stick and tapes it under the post-it. When she turns around, Kyle’s right behind her, practically leaning over her shoulder. “It’s from the movie. You’ll see.”

“It’s good advice. Thanks. I don’t really talk about this stuff with anyone. You know the situation with my parents, you’ve met my brother, Matty has his own problems, Dooling probably hates us now.”

“Probably, but his advice isn’t nearly as good as mine.”

“Kyle!” Larry shouts at the top of his lungs. “Quit playing footsie and get down here!”

“Leave them alone, Larry!” his mom shouts.

“Did you guys know Kyle knows a girl?” his dad asks.

Kyle buries his face into the bed and groans. When he surfaces, his face is so grumpy and his hair thoroughly mussed. Not a bad look on him. “I’m trying to remember why I thought this was a good idea.”

“It’s not so bad so far,” Francesca says on her way to the door. “At least, for me. I’m pretty sure they’re going to roast you and it’s going to be delightful.”

“As long as you’re entertained, Curtis.” Kyle rolls off his bed and follows after her. “That’s all that matters to me.”

On the drive over, Francesca might’ve thought this whole day would be awkward. She’s only met Kyle’s mom that first night and on her way out after Wine Tasting Tuesday. She convinced herself that Mrs. Jamison was just being polite and wouldn’t want to have to keep faking it, especially on a fake holiday meant to be spent with family. Much like Kyle, his family surprises her.

The Jamisons make her feel included without feeling put on the spot. They seem genuinely interested in her life without being pushy. On the off-change someone (Larry) asks something she isn’t comfortable sharing, Kyle picks up on it and changes the subject. She sees yet another side of him in this new dynamic, the baby in the family who pretends to not love the teasing, but secretly does, knows it means he’s loved.

Is this what family is? Maybe in movies and on TV and the pages of magazines to try to sell things to people who want their family to be perceived as perfect, but in the real world? It feels like a myth come to life and it’s surreal she’s even invited to participate.

For once in her life, Francesca’s happy to turn her brain off and feel like she belongs.

***

“H-O-R-S-E! What’s that spell? I said what’s that spell? I can’t hear you!”

Uncle Rhodey cups his hand over one ear and does a strange little dance around his nephews. No adult man should gloat like this especially when Desmond won the first two games. Uncle Rhodey took this last round on a shot that was pure luck and now he’s insufferable. 

“It was luck,” Desmond says. 

“Wow. You aren’t gonna give me props?” Uncle Rhodey shakes his head. “Hey, listen, it’s not about making the shot. It’s about the willingness to take the shot and live with the results.” 

“I’m hungry!” Keyon shouts. 

Uncle Rhodey finally reins in his gloating, but not his ego and reheats the chicken that went cold while they were playing. He lets them take their food into the living room so they can eat in front of the TV, which is usually against house rules. Uncle Rhodey calls it a “holiday exception” so maybe he isn’t all bad all the time.

“Mom’s fried chicken is way better.” Keyon pouts, but reaches for a drumstick anyway. 

“We can’t all be Wonder Woman like your mom.” Uncle Rhodey pours them each a glass of soda, something else their mom would frown down upon, but it came with the fried chicken combo meal and it would be wrong to let it go to waste. “How’s school?” 

“Good,” Keyon answers mid-bite. “I’m class leader. I have a badge and everything!”

“Nice,” Uncle Rhodey says. “What does that mean?”

“It means he's a teacher's pet and a snitch,” Desmond replies. 

“No, I’m not! If my teacher asks me who was being bad when she was out in the hallway, what am I supposed to do? _Lie_?”

Uncle Rhodey chuckles. “Yeah, exactly. That’s the mindset you’re supposed to have. Ignore your small head big brother. There’s nothing uncool about doing the right thing and being a good person.”

Desmond focuses on the first part. “Man, now you’re calling me that?”

“What? It’s a good thing! Once you’re Mr. Big East Desmond Rhodes, starting forward of the St. John’s Red Storm, you can’t let all the noise and sensationalism inflate your head. You need to stay focused and grounded.”

“I already know that.” Desmond pushes a puddle of mashed potatoes around on his plate. His mom’s potatoes are better too. “My mom won’t let me forget it.” 

“Good. Once you start playing on the college level, you’ll be living under a microscope. A lot of people are gonna root against you, just waiting for you to slip up, just once, and it’ll be all anyone talks about, all anyone remembers you for. You have to live like everything you do off the court is as crucial as everything you do on it. Then once you get to the NBA, it’s a whole other level.” 

Desmond slouches in his seat. “Why does it have to be like that? I mean… I feel like everyone wants something from me all the time and expects me to be a certain way and you’re telling me that’s just gonna get worse? I know it’s dumb to complain. A big school like St. John’s wants me. They wanna pay for my college. Everyone’s saying I’m NBA-ready, none of that’s anything to complain about…”

“You’re seventeen, Des,” Uncle Rhodey says. “There’s tons for you to complain about! That’s normal. That’s why you have your mom and me to lean on. You know that, right?”

“I guess…” 

“Does your mom tell you she’s proud of you?” Rhodey asks. Desmond nods. “Sick of it yet?”

His stoic expression cracks with a smile. “She tells me _all the time_.”

“Because it’s true! And there’s a lot to be proud of! If I had an ounce of your talent and all of your height, I wouldn’t have had to turn to the military to get an education. Not only that, you’re a good man. Trust that. You are going to do some incredible things. You have your whole life ahead of you.” 

“Remember when mama had that catering gig,” Desmond says. “And she could never get a sitter so she’d stick me in the office and I’d help you balance the books?”

If not for that experience, his math grade would be as shit as his English.

“Yeah, King of the Calculator,” Uncle Rhodey laughs. “Shame the business went under.”

“Do you ever think about running it back?” Desmond asks. “But like an actual restaurant? I know mama would rather be in the kitchen than any of the jobs she’s got now. She won’t say it, but I can tell. Would you be down?”

“It’s a nice dream,” Uncle Rhodey says. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to do later down the road, you know I’ll be there, ready to work. School first. Get your education. You know your mama would say the same thing.”

He knows his uncle means well, but the faith he has in him, the faith they all have in him just makes him feel worse. It isn’t the fried food or carbonation making his stomach sour. It’s guilt. 

***

“I win! Again!” Roy spikes the controller on the ground like a football in the end zone. Matty would probably be pissed if Roy didn’t bring his own gaming controllers. It’s one of those fancy, transparent purple ones and has Pokemon stickers all over it. 

“Is this what you do, Roy?” Matty asks. “Get high and play video games?” 

“Duh. What else is there to do?” 

“I don’t know. Date?”

Roy’s expression turns salacious and Matty regrets even bringing it up. “Oh, I’m well-acquainted with the ladies in the South East Asia Cultural Club.” 

Like so many things when it comes to Roy, he regrets asking.

“Matthew!” his mom shouts. “Dinner’s ready!” 

Roy springs up and runs up the basement stairs on all fours. Matty shakes his head and turns off the PS2 and the TV. He peeks behind the magazines and the gun is still there. He shuts the doors of the compartment beneath the TV and hopes Roy doesn’t accidentally stumble onto it. 

Hanging out with Roy isn’t all bad. He’s incredibly weird and only gets weirder the more you get to know him. He’s also some kind of video game savant. The moment a controller’s in his hand, he goes into ninja assassin mode. It’s kind of cool. It’d be cooler if Matty wasn’t playing against him and getting his ass handed to him over and over again. 

When they’re sitting down to dinner, it’s clear Roy didn’t come over just to play video games. He wanted a free meal. Roy eats the magical brisket, a recipe that’s been in their family for years, with a voracity that pleases his mom. For the first time, Matty wonders why Roy is even at his house on a holiday and not his own. 

Last year, Matty’s mom wouldn’t let him leave the house without eating something even if he was going to Sandy’s house for dinner. He’d shove a few bites into his mouth and be out the door, eager to see Sandy, anxious about making small talk with her family. He doesn’t even remember what his mom made, but he remembers her in the kitchen cooking for the better part of the day like she does every night and more so every holiday. 

“This looks really great, mom.” Matty takes a bite and the meat practically melts in his mouth. It’s the smallest of compliments, but she brightens at the praise and it feels good to make her happy. 

“It’s delicious!” Roy says. “Linda, you are a kitchen wizard.” 

“That’s so sweet of you, boys.”

“Did you move my clothes from the washer to the dryer while you were downstairs?” Jack asks.

Matty scoffs. “Why would I touch your laundry? That’s gross.”

Jack mutters what sounds like “good for nothing brat” under his breath. Jerk.

“So is everyone excited to see _A Midsummer Night's Rockin' Eve_ or what?” Roy asks. 

Matty chokes mid-sip of water. It dribbles down his chin, soaking the collar of his shirt. 

“What the hell is that?” Jack asks with his mouth full. 

“Uhhhhhhhh…” Roy defers to Matty. 

“It’s the school musical,” Matty explains. “I’m a part of the crew and I have an understudy role, but I’m not actually in it so I don’t expect any of you to come. Not that you came to see me when I was the lead in Romeo and Juliet…” 

“You were in Romeo and Juliet?” Jack laughs. _Such_ a jerk.

“That’s not fair, Matthew,” his mom argues. “You didn’t tell us until the night before and we already had dinner plans with the Jagielskis.” 

He was scared of what they’d think and when he finally found the courage to tell them, they weren’t willing to change their plans to see him. 

“You only did it for your girlfriend anyway,” his dad points out. 

“Yeah, I auditioned because Sandy asked me to, but…” Matty holds back, but then decides, fuck it. He lets go. He lets go of things he’s been holding back on and holding in for a long time. “I realized I like it. I like playing a character and getting to be someone other than myself and I like being on stage and hearing the audience’s reaction and all the stuff that goes into making sure a production runs smoothly. It’s the best feeling in the world to me.” 

His heart beats so hard in his chest that his entire body shakes with it. His family stares at him like they don’t understand, like they don’t know him at all. 

His father breaks the tense silence with a laugh. “Of all the ridiculous things…” 

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Matty asks, feeling his fear turn to burning hot anger. 

“Acting and singing and dancing.” His father scowls. “That’s little kids stuff. You’re graduating high school and then you’ll be in the real world. It’s time to grow up, Matthew.”

Matty shoves his chair back with such force that it topples over behind him. He’d feel bad about his mom’s startled reaction, but he’s too busy shaking, breaking inside. He should have known they’d react like this. He should have known they wouldn’t understand or care to try. He wants to scream or break something, but holds back this time and marches out of the kitchen, out the front door, into the cold night air. 

He tries to breathe as deeply as possible, but it’s like the air isn’t reaching his lungs. Why can’t he even breathe right? Why can’t he even get the simplest things right?

“We can’t have our understudy catching a cold,” Roy says.

Matty feels something drape over his shoulders and knows it’s his favorite jacket when he feels the wool-lined collar.

“Let’s bail,” Roy says. “Your mom makes a mean brisket, but I’m craving something sweet.”

“My keys are still inside.” 

And he refuses to go back into that house right now. It will only make things worse. 

“I’ll drive.” Roy walks down the driveway and it takes Matty a few seconds, a few shaky breaths, before he manages to make himself move. 

“You drive? I’ve never seen you in a car.”

“It technically isn’t _my_ car. It belongs to my cousin, but he’s away on business in Tokyo or whatever so I borrowed it.” 

Roy points to a Honda Civic parked at the end of the street. Its most striking detail is a baby blue vinyl wrap with a busty anime girl complete with a tight, short schoolgirl uniform in a weird, contorted pose over the passenger side door. What the fuck? To be fair, should he even be surprised? This is Roy, after all. 

“I’m not riding in that,” Matty says. 

“Come on! A car’s a car! Plus, it goes fast and furious, baby! Vroom! Vroom!” 

Roy high-steps over to the car that emits a baby blue glow from the underside and Matty already knows his giddiness can only be a bad omen. Still, glancing back over at his house, realizing none of his family members, not even his mom tried to check on him, he’s prepared to go to great lengths to get far, far away from this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the movie, Desmond is a 76ers fan, mentions having an uncle and his last name is Rhodes. James Rhodes (Earth-616) is from South Philly and Don Cheedle's in all those Marvel movies. It was too perfect for me to not do it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	15. Strike & Token

At the start of high school, if you told Kyle that Francesca Curtis would be the first girl he ever invites home to spend the holidays with his family, hell, if you told him two months ago, he would have laughed and said there’s no way. Now, it’s happening.

After the best meal of the year and too many childhood stories, the Jamison men clear the table and scrub the kitchen clean. It’s the least they can do after mom spent the whole day cooking. Kyle smiles at the sound of his mom and Francesca having an animated conversation in the next room. They sound like they're having a good time, he doesn’t want to interrupt.

“I liked that one!” Donna taps her toes on the floor, something she does when she’s super excited. “Lawrence just falls asleep during movies these days so I dragged Kyle to the theater. That’s a thing you can do, you know. Drag him to movies. Romantic comedies, whatever you like, he won’t say no. Anyway, what did you think?”

“I don’t know,” Francesca replies. “I mean, when people deviate from normal, everyday life, they want to be rebellious and reckless. Doesn’t meeting someone in that way make it seem artificial? Romance that happens under those conditions can’t be expected to survive once you’re back in the real world.” 

“You have a point,” Donna says, “ _but_ I find the ability to connect so beautiful and so human. They were both so lost in their own way and found mutual understanding and someone they just liked being around. Sometimes it’s as simple as that and that’s just beautiful to me.”

“You’re a romantic, Mrs. J.”

“How are you not? You’re too young to be cynical about love!” 

“If you met my parents, you’d know why,” Francesca mutters. “And from first-hand experience, boys suck. At least, the ones interested in me…”

“Who are these boys? Give me their names and addresses. I’ll talk to their mothers or better yet, I’ll send Kyle and Larry to teach them a lesson.”

Francesca laughs and it doesn’t sound fake like she’s just trying to appease his mom, which is more than he could have hoped for by inviting her. She seemed out-of-her-element at times, but hearing her laugh and open up feels awesome. Kyle makes as much noise as possible as he walks into the living room and deflates when he sees his baby album open across Francesca’s lap. 

“ _Mom_. With the baby photos? Really?” 

“I promised Francesca, didn’t I? What kind of person would I be if I didn’t keep my word?”

Kyle slumps into the empty space next to Francesca, stretching his arm out across the back of the couch behind her. It surprises him when she leans into his side and shifts the album closer for him to see. She points to a photo of Kyle as a young boy, again with a bowl-cut, holding up a cabin made of popsicle sticks.

“The popsicle cabin that started it all,” Kyle says proudly. 

“Why are your lips so red?” Francesca asks. “In like, every photo.”

“Candy,” he answers. “Candy kept me quiet.”

“That and he would always watch me put on my lipstick—”

Here we go. Of course she _has_ to tell this story.

“—and the one time I let him try some on, he said, ‘yuck! That tastes gross!’ And made this face.” His mom crosses her arms, raises her shoulders up to her ears and crinkles her face. Accurate. “So I got him some cherry-flavored chapstick and he would always over-apply it, but who am I to stop him?”

“No complaints so far,” Kyle brags. 

His mom sputters with laughter. “Oh yeah? Who is there to complain? That neighbor girl you took to winter formal? What was her name again? Oh! Janey Biggs!”

Francesca frowns. “That weird art girl? I didn’t know you dated her.”

“Not dated, it was _one_ stupid school dance,” Kyle says. “Matty and Sandy peer pressured me into bringing someone. We lived next door to each other all our lives until her family moved to Seattle. And so what? She was cute.”

“Her so-called ‘art’ was mediocre at best,” Francesca says like it’s a fact. “Anna’s photographs have more to say and she takes it too seriously too.”

“Francesca Curtis,” Kyle says, in awe. “Did you just give Anna a compliment?”

She narrows her eyes and literally pouts. Adorable.

“The torture chamber sounds like it’s poppin’!” Larry walks around the back of the couch and drops a kiss to the top of his mom’s head. “Dinner was delicious. Now I’m meeting some friends to give thanks to beer. And I’m probably gonna jump off a roof into a swimming pool for cold hard cash.”

“Larry,” his mom says very seriously. 

“Yeah, yeah, make good decisions, no drinking and driving, use a condom. I’d say I’ve done alright so far.” Larry ruffles Kyle’s hair just to be a dick. “What about you two? Got any fun plans? Planning to hit up a liquor store? Steal some candy from a baby?”

What the hell are those suggestions?

Larry tosses his head back with laughter. “What am I talking about? Kyle isn’t fun. Hey, you look like a girl that can make him fun.”

“I have fun,” Kyle says defensively. 

“Sitting in your room playing with your glue gun doesn’t count,” Larry teases.

“Actually, I was planning on going to a concert tonight before I got a better offer,” Francesca says. “The headliner doesn’t go on until like, after ten. We could probably make it if you’re interested.”

“Yes, he’s so unbelievably interested,” Larry answers for him. “Go! You can play board games and charades with mom and dad some other night. Go out, be young, burn the city down! Mom, tell them.”

“Go,” his mom says. “Same rules apply, Kyle. Your dad and I trust you.” 

“If you need rubbers, I got y—”

Kyle nearly jumps off the back of the couch, shoving his palm into his brother’s face to keep him from finishing that sentence. Larry spins away and cackles all the way out the door. Seriously, how is he related to that idiot? Kyle turns to a much too amused Francesca. 

“Are you driving or am I?” he asks. 

“I’ll drive,” Francesca replies. “Thank you for having me over, Mrs. J. I’ll have your son home mostly in one piece.” 

“Come over any time you want,” his mom says. “I know it’s a month from now, but you should stop by for Christmas! Kyle makes handmade ornaments and overcomplicated gingerbread houses every year. I make a mean rum cake if I do say so myself.”

He’s right about to add that she can say no if she has other plans or doesn't celebrate, take some of the pressure off, when Francesca says, “My family doesn’t really celebrate anything except, well, themselves.” She does that thing where she ducks her head and straightens her bangs almost shyly. “Sure, if you’ll have me…”

Donna gives Francesca a warm hug. It takes Francesca by surprise, but she eventually relaxes into the embrace, eyes gently closing. Kyle watches them with a smile, happy he mustered up the courage to invite her. At least he got one thing right. 

***

Anna feels like she’s suffocating in her own living room, surrounded by people, and none of them even notice.

The new, conservative knee-length dress her mom bought and told her to wear makes her skin itch and her hair feels pulled back a little too tight. Of course her parents would host Thanksgiving for a huge group of Brown alumni and of course she would be forced to make small talk and field questions about her future plans and her resume. Of course her parents quizzed her on appropriate answers prior. Why doesn’t this ever end?

“Anna!” Her older sister swoops in. Their parents are a little put-off by the abrupt interruption, but Amanda doesn’t care. She’s always been cool like that. “Could I borrow you for a sec? I could use your help in the kitchen.” 

Anna jumps at the opportunity. Her older sister wraps an arm around her and guides her down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the ground floor. 

“Thanks for getting me out of there.” Anna gives the sophisticated, well-dressed art restorer a one-armed hug. “Remember when Thanksgiving meant sitting around in our pajamas and watching the parade on TV?” Anna glances over her shoulder where her parents continue to entertain and schmooze. “Not whatever this is…” 

It feels more like an interview than a holiday meant to give thanks. 

Amanda laughs. “Remember the year mom tried to cook.” 

“It’s a miracle we didn’t all get food poisoning.” 

The sisters fall into each other laughing. 

“Do you actually need my help or was that just an excuse to get me out of there?” Anna asks. “I’m grateful either way.”

“It’s more of a surprise _and_ an excuse to get you out of there.”

Never in a million years would she have expected to see Roy picking at a silver tray of uneaten hors d’oeuvres, not even chewing before jamming more stuffed mushrooms into his mouth. Even more surprising, Matty’s with him, dispassionately commenting on Roy’s eating habits. 

“Roy? Matty? What are you guys doing here?” Anna asks. 

“Rescuing you of course!” Roy shouts. 

Anna crosses her arms. “Do I look like a princess in need of rescuing?” 

“I dunno,” Roy says in that teasing, cryptic way he does everything. “Do you wanna be?” 

“I don’t know, but your house definitely looks like the suburbs version of a castle,” Matty mutters, taking in the white subway tile backsplash and stainless steel kitchen appliances. “This was all Roy’s idea, by the way.” 

“And you just went along with it because?” Anna asks. 

“It beats being at my house.” 

Anna’s heart quickens, feeling seen in a way that makes her uncomfortable. At least Matty seems completely oblivious and Roy moved on to the leftover caviar and smoked salmon canapés. She turns to her sister who’s much better at reading her, who knows how desperately she needs to get out of here.

“Go.” Amanda accidentally on purpose tips over an entire bucket of ice and sends the pellets scattering all over the kitchen floor. “Oh, how clumsy of me! Now we don’t have any ice. Anna, could you run to the market and get another bag? Why, it’d ruin Thanksgiving if our guests had to drink warm drinks.” 

“I’ll get right on that.” Anna starts to walk to the backdoor, but backtracks and grabs the pumpkin pie on the table. “Let’s see if we can get Desmond to meet us for ice cream.”

“I like the way you think,” Roy says, following her out the back door. 

“Aren’t you even a little concerned that Roy just knew where you lived?” Matty asks. 

“He’s The Ghost, Matty,” Anna says very seriously.

“Yes! Someone finally gets me!” Roy slips his hand beneath his shirt and slapping his hand against his chest over his heart, simulating his heart beating out of his chest. _Thud, thud. Thud, thud._ He’s so weird, but she’s starting to find it endearing and she knows she isn’t the only one in the group. 

“I think he’s rubbing off on you,” Matty says, “and that’s not a good thing.” 

As the boys bicker all the way to the car, Anna fills with a sense of relief and excitement. She’s going out without her parents’ permission with friends, _boys_ and one of which is questionable at best. This isn’t like her _at all_ and it’s the best part of her day so far. 

***

It takes them about forty-five minutes to reach Manhattan. Francesca knows exactly which lanes and exits to take. This clearly isn’t her first trip. Kyle hasn’t crossed the river many times in his life. His family just never found the reason to, which makes every trip more meaningful. New York City is an architecture nerd’s dream playground. 

Francesca laughs from behind the wheel when they emerge from Holland Tunnel and Kyle’s nose is practically pressed to the car window, admiring the mix of lit, glass skyscrapers and old, historic buildings that have endured time.

“Your nerd is showing,” she says.

“I have no excuse. I make no apologies.”

“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing.”

Francesca has a shockingly easy time finding parking and it really shouldn’t surprise him that there’s a Curtis Properties plaque on the outside of the garage. It’s pretty late at night and yet there are people everywhere, alone or in little groups, exuding energy. When they arrive at a classy, white brick building with brass and iron embellishments, Francesca walks straight up to the door. The bouncer recognizes her on sight and gives them immediate entrance. 

“Does your dad own this building too?” Kyle asks. 

“He’s an investor. It was a shoe store back in the 1920s and a vaudeville hall at one point. One of the cofounders is an architect who made sure it had optimal acoustics for live music during the reno.” 

It feels like stepping into the 1920s once they reach the bar area with its warm lighting and all the mirrors lining the radial space. Francesca grabs his hand and cuts through the crowd, dragging him to the stage area. It’s just so they don’t get separated, he reasons. It doesn’t mean anything more. It doesn’t have to. It shouldn’t. It can’t, not after the promise he made Dave. 

“Shit, they’re on already,” Francesca says, almost inaudibly with all the competing sounds. 

Four young women in pink satin jackets are on stage playing various instruments. Thundering drums. Shredding guitars. Rhythmic bass. The lead singer whips her dark hair from side to side as she wails into the microphone. Definitely a band Francesca would like. _The Electrocutes._

Francesca fearlessly drags him straight through the mosh pit to the foot of the stage, battling through a sea of bodies dancing, jumping and barreling into each other in time with the music. Kyle has only been to concerts in stadiums with assigned seating, never these small, intimate free-for-alls littered throughout New York City. It’s pure chaos, liberating in a way.

Once she finds a spot she likes, Francesca joins the mayhem, bouncing on her feet, singing along. She’s usually so guarded, distant, hidden behind everyone’s perception of her. To see her right now, so carefree and with an almost child-like glee shining in her eyes, just a girl dancing along to her favorite song, it’s a revelation. Kyle’s happy to just watch her, marvel at her, exult in her presence. When she catches him staring, her eyes hooded and her bottom lip between her teeth, Francesca shakes his arm.

No way. He’d feel too awkward. This isn’t his scene at all. 

Francesca pushes up onto her tiptoes to shout in his ear. “Just let go!”

Not an easy request for someone like Kyle who always has a plan and always needs to be in control. Then Francesca squeezes his hand so he gives in and gives her a twirl that makes her laugh. She’s so beautiful. That’s obvious, an undeniable truth. For some reason, she doesn’t mind having him around. How is he supposed to deny this girl anything? 

So he dances with her to the best of his limited abilities and it’s fun, freeing. For a moment he forgets about the lies. He forgets about Cornell and the future and his fears. It feels like the entire universe has been condensed down to this dance floor, the punk music thumping through his body and Francesca. When he looks at her, everything else melts away. When he looks at her, he thinks, even if they fail, getting to know her and spending time with her has already made everything worth it.

“You’re a terrible dancer!” Francesca shouts. 

Kyle feigns outrage, but it falls flat with how he can’t quit smiling. When the stage lights soften and the band plays a slower, softer cover of an 80s song, Francesca turns to face the stage and presses her back to his chest. She pulls his arm across her waist and Kyle drops his chin to her shoulder. He knows this is dangerous, but he couldn’t push her away even if he tried, not physically, not emotionally. He should, but he can’t. He won’t. 

***

“I can’t believe I’m smoking pot in a parking lot with Anna Ross!”

Anna would probably be offended if she hasn’t already unfurled in the backseat of Roy’s car, letting go of all the stress and any and all thoughts of Brown. Roy’s cousin’s car? His uncle’s car? Details like that just don't seem important right now. She’s become one with the backseat cushions that smell like orange air freshener. It’s the best she’s felt all night. 

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have believed you either,” Anna agrees. 

Drugs are bad and scary. That’s what she was always taught and maybe she still believes that about hard drugs anyway. Drugs mess up your head. Drugs make you lose control. Trying marijuana with Roy in the school auditorium during detention (!!!) had been a spur of the moment decision, but if she’s honest with herself, she’s been thinking about it since she first asked Roy why he smokes. She also did diligent cannabis research. 

Mostly the deciding factor was the realization that she never had control of her life to begin with. Her parents have been telling her what to do, what to say, how to say it, what to wear, etc. for her entire life and she’s sick of it. _Choosing_ to smoke pot for the first time had felt so novel. Then after just a few drags that made her throat burn and hurt a little, she’s never been more relaxed in her life. 

“Your parents are shitty too, huh? Welcome to the club.” Matty holds out his hand and Anna gives him a lazy high-five that makes a rather pathetic sound. Fitting. 

“At least you had the guts to stand up to your parents and tell them about what you love,” Anna says. “I just freeze and sit there and keep my mouth shut as my parents talk over me and they don’t even notice, probably don’t care.” 

“Man, you’re both killing my vibe,” Roy grumbles. “At least you have parents.” He stuffs his mouth with more of the finger food he stole. “This is some really good shit.”

“I’m sorry, Roy,” Anna says. “We must sound stupid, complaining about our parents…”

“No biggie. My parents died when I was young, but if they were dicks, I’d probably complain too.” Roy takes a hit of a hand-rolled joint and passes it to Matty. “We should all smoke a bowl before the heist for luck!”

Anna laughs. “Desmond would never go for that.”

“Neither would Kyle,” Matty adds. “I tried calling him to see if he wants to meet up, but still no answer and he’s the only one with Francesca’s number so…”

“Maybe they’re together and doing it right now!” Roy thrusts his hips so vigorously it rocks the whole car. Matty groans while Anna just laughs. A knock on the window startles all three of them. Matty throws the joint back to Roy who juggles it. Anna laughs, recognizing Desmond trying to peer into the window and opens the door. He steps back, turned off by the smell. 

“I hope you know the only reason I’m here right now is because I don’t trust either of these fools driving you home like this,” Desmond says. Happy to see him, Anna scoots over and pats the super soft backseat cushion. Desmond sits next to her, but leaves the door open. “Again, A? Really? Is this going to be a thing now?”

“Stop judging,” she whines. “My parents turned Thanksgiving into a Brown interview and I had to get away… We waited for you to eat pie. Roy was very patient.”

“So very patient,” Roy agrees. “Let’s go get the ice cream!”

“Who’s watching Keyon?” Anna asks as Roy and Matty head into the market ahead of them. “You didn’t leave him home alone, did you?”

“No, Anna, I’m not _that_ irresponsible. My uncle brought food over since my mom’s at work.” Desmond sighs. “He started going on and on about how I’m going to be living under a microscope at St. John’s and the NBA is only going to be worse and what a good man I am so he’s sure I can handle it.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Even if we can pull it off, just knowing that this could come back and haunt me at some point in the future… Not gonna lie, I never thought about it until today and I don’t know how to feel.” 

“You don’t have to be there if you don’t want to,” Anna says. “Roy and I can handle our part and I’ll still give you the answers. I don’t mind.”

“Anna, no way.”

“Why not?”

“The others, they aren’t as bad as I thought, but if anyone’s gonna be there to watch your back, it’s gonna be me.” 

“The stakes are higher for you, a lot higher.” Anna leans her head on his arm. “Like you said, what’s the worst that happens to me? If I get arrested, I can have my record expunged three years after completing my sentence, probably pay a fee, community service. In the meantime Brown won’t even think of accepting me. Disappointing my parents.”

“Okay, why do I get the feeling that none of those things sound too bad to you?”

“I’m not crazy,” Anna says. “But lately I’ve been thinking about how I used to see things in black and white. That’s how my parents raised me so of course I did, but now I’m starting to think life is more gay and complex than that. I meant _gray_!”

“Okay. But you know, there’s nothing wrong with the first thing either.” 

She’s a little surprised to hear that, touched that even as they breach what’s unknown, even scary territory for both of them, he’s with her no matter what. He means what he says. Her eyes begin to tear up.

Anna hides her face against the thick material of his coat at his shoulder. “I don’t know. As if I don’t have enough on my plate right now… What does it mean if I think Kyle’s cute like your favorite member of a boyband cute, but…when I think about…”

Ugh, she’s kind of disappointed she isn’t as high as she could be right now.

“Photography,” Desmond says. “Pizza with crap sauce, but really good cheese. The one person in the school who’s arguably smarter than you.”

“Am I that obvious? It was totally awkward, right? I can’t even talk to her like a normal person.”

“Yes, you can. And it means whatever it means to you, A. I can’t decide that for you. Hell, I can’t even decide things for myself. But if I were you, I’d rather fight Carlo than Francesca, that’s for damn sure.”

She laughs. “Desmond!”

“What? Something tells me she fights dirty and you could totally take Carlo. He doesn’t get her art. You already have that on him.”

“I’m not going to fight anyone,” she says. “I am a mess all on my own. Adding another person and feelings to that equation, I can’t, not now.”

“I got nothing for you there,” Desmond says. “Do you ever feel like you’re so busy trying to be what everyone wants that you don’t know who you are or who _you_ wanna be?”

“All the time!” Anna winces. “Sorry, that shouldn’t be something to get excited about. I ask myself that all the time. Under all the meaningless, superficial success, I don't know who I am or what I want. You, on the other hand…”

“Please enlighten me because I don’t know most day.”

“I can’t tell you who to be, Des, but I know you’re the kind of person who loves your mom and your brother, you’ll do anything for them. You take care of the people you care about. You go with your gut and when you tell me you have my back, I know I never have to question it.”

Normally, they aren’t physically affectionate, but he looks like he needs a hug and she could kind of use one too so she wraps both arms around him and squeezes.

“So long as you know I’m gonna hold an intervention if you start cuttin’ class to smoke shit with Roy,” Desmond says. “Someone’s gotta draw the line somewhere, Anna.”

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad I can count on you for that.” Anna hugs him even tighter. “I think that makes you a good man, Des.”

***

After the concert, Francesca takes Kyle to a cheap, no-frills 24-hour hole-in-the wall saying she needs coffee for the drive back. When he tells her he’s never had Ukrainian food before, she orders a variety of grilled kielbasa, potato pancakes with sour cream, savory pierogi and blintzes with raspberry sauce. They sit at a table in the corner by the window and Francesca watches him react to each bite from behind a mug of coffee. 

“How are you still eating right now?” she asks. 

“What? I like to eat.” To prove it, Kyle shoves the rest of a pierogi into his mouth. “ _So_ good. Thank you for letting me tag along tonight. I really needed it. You are going to have the best time when you’re living out here in the fall.” 

“You say it like I already got in.”

Kyle sips his own coffee. “If it’s what you want, I’m sure you’ll find a way to get here. I think it suits you. I’ll have to visit so we can go to a cool warehouse rave and hit up all the late night food places.”

“Yes to the food, but I’d much rather watch you geek out over all of the architecture some more,” Francesca says. “Do you think the stars being backwards on the Grand Central Terminal mural was artistic licensing, a fuck-up they tried to cover up or a message from the Illuminati?” 

“Of course you’d investigate that last one. I don’t know, but I know it’s incredible. Can you imagine, 1913, walking in there and seeing what? A 40 thousand square foot astrological mutual on the ceiling? Yes, I admit I went full nerd when I first saw it. The statues of Hercules and Minerva! The architects and designers of the time saw themselves as innovators just like the Greeks and Romans.” 

“Is that why you want to be an architect? To innovate and leave your mark?”

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll do anything that big or important, but I can dream. Even just designing houses for people to raise their families in or parks for kids to play on, I don’t know, that’s cool to me. What about you? Is that why you write? To leave your mark?” 

“Yeah, well, this total nerd once told me a story’s worth telling if it’s mine so…”

“Investigative journalism and young adult fiction. You’ve got the range, Curtis.” Kyle reaches into his jacket pocket. “By the way, I got you something for the heist.” He pulls out a Casio silver mini digital watch.

“Is that why you were talking to that guy in the trench coat?” Francesca asks. “I thought you were witnessing your first flasher.” 

“He was wearing clothes and had about twenty watches on each arm,” Kyle explains. “I got a good deal and you’re going to need a watch for the lobby part of the plan. It has a stopwatch function, alarm, and it’s water resistant. You don’t have to wear it if you aren’t a watch person. It’s just for the heist...” 

“Thanks.” Francesca stretches her right arm across the table and Kyle carefully slides the watch onto her wrist and clips it into place.

Feeling like he rambled enough, Kyle checks his phone to give him something to do and sees a few missed text messages from Matty. “Looks like the rest of the SAT group is hanging out without us.”

“Wow. Your Breakfast Club moment actually worked.” 

“Yeah, well, who said trust is key to the art of the heist?”

Francesca reaches across the table to steal half of a pierogi off of his plate and yeah, the watch looks right on her.

“One of my favorite architects, Louis Kahn, he said ‘even a brick wants to be something,’” Kyle says. “It’s my yearbook quote. I just think a brick might not do much on its own, but when you put one brick with another and another, eventually you get Grand Central Terminal or the Empire State Building. Even if we don’t think we can do much on our own, get enough of us together with a common goal and magic happens.”

“You have a lot of faith in people,” Francesca says.

“You don’t?”

“Past experience tells me I shouldn’t.” Francesca adjusts the watch on her wrist and plays with the different functions. “But I wouldn’t hate being wrong just this once.”

Kyle smiles at her from across the table and it’s dopey, completely smitten. “I’ll take it.”

*** 

The moment Matty steps into Clyde’s Market, Roy pushes past him and makes a beeline for the chip aisle like a heat-seeking missile. The rest of the market lit by dull fluorescent lighting is empty except for Dave who’s reading a magazine at the check-out counter. 

“Hey,” Matty says. “Are you seriously working on Thanksgiving?”

“Holiday pay and I’m saving up for Photoshop.” Dave’s brow furrows when he sees and hears Roy knock over a whole row of Cheetos. “Since when do you hang out with Roy?” Before he can answer, the electronic bell over the door sounds as Anna and Desmond walk in. 

“Matty, tell Desmond whipped cream goes better with pumpkin pie than ice cream,” Anna says.

“Nu-uh,” Desmond argues. “Vanilla ice cream. And it has to be just the right amount of melted.”

“We’re getting both!” Roy shouts from elsewhere in the store, probably causing more havoc. “Garnished with crushed potato chips!”

“In what world would _that_ work?” Desmond asks. 

“Mmm, chips sound amazing,” Anna mutters, walking with purpose to the chip aisle. “Roy, I’ve been craving those Korean chips you gave me. Where do you buy those?” 

The three of them debating junk food has to be an even stranger combination. Judging by the dumbfounded expression on Dave’s face, he’s come to the same conclusion. His confusion isn’t surprising, but having to field questions sounds like a headache on top of the headache this day has already turned into. 

“Roy has good pot,” Matty says plainly. 

Luckily, it’s an acceptable answer for Dave who nods and goes back to flipping through his magazine. “Where’s Kyle?”

“Beats me. Home, hanging out with his family, I guess.”

“He’s got a hot date.” Larry, wearing a silk shirt, chinos and a thin gold chain, shoulders Matty out of the way and drops a twenty-four pack of beer on the counter. Dave looks to Matty for confirmation, but he doesn’t have to act shocked, he _is_. “I set it up thank you very much.”

Matty laughs. “ _You_ set _Kyle_ up on a _date_ with who exactly?”

Larry mimes zipping his lips. He’s always been an asshole like that. When Kyle’s parents forced Larry to be their Little League team’s third base coach thinking it’d keep him busy and out of trouble, he’d taunt and spit sunflower seeds at Kyle and Matty every time they reached base. 

“With like, a stripper or an escort or something?” Dave asks dumbly. 

Larry’s face darkens and that’s usually Matty’s cue to shield his face. “Matthew, who’s this dipshit?” 

“Just pay and leave, Larry.” 

“Um, can I see some identification, sir?” Dave asks. Larry makes a haughty sound, but hands over his driver’s license. In a matter of seconds, he’s throwing down some crumpled bills and hauling his beer onto one shoulder thinking he’s so cool.

“Forget him,” Matty says. “Why are older brothers such assholes?”

“Beats me, I’m an only child,” Dave replies. “So you’re hanging out with the class brain, Desmond freaking Rhodes and the biggest stoner in all of New Jersey and Kyle’s out on a date? I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone.” 

It only gets stranger when Roy stumbles up to the register with a container of vanilla ice cream and an armful of aerosol whipped cream cans. Anna follows with an armful of chips and chocolate. Desmond mumbles under his breath and adds paper plates and a pack of plastic utensils. Dave rings up their purchase and thankfully, doesn’t ask any more questions.

“Did you know you can get high off of this?” Roy sprays a spiral of whipped cream right on his tongue. He smacks his lips with a content sound. “It only lasts like thirty seconds, but I hear it’s an intense thirty seconds!”

“I’m not going to inhale nitrous oxide, Roy,” Anna says. 

“Thank Jesus,” Desmond mutters. “Hey, do you think Prestolani’s is open right now?”

Anna smacks his arm harder than usually and receives a knowing smile in return.

“Montebello’s has better sauce, but Prestolani’s has the superior cheese combo,” Roy says. “I could totally do pizza right now!”

Anna shoots Desmond a glare. “I seriously doubt they’re open on Thanksgiving.”

***

It turns out Prestolani’s is open on Thanksgiving.

The pizzeria feels more like one big family party with children running around and men hoisting glasses of wine in the air and singing songs in Italian. Anna tries to convince the guys that they’re having a private party, but when Roy invites himself inside and asks if they’re open, a boisterous middle-aged man assures them that Prestolani’s never turns away paying customers.

“They have a Thanksgiving pizza!” Roy gasps. “That’s sacrilegious! We’re getting it!”

“My dad will try anything once if it turns a profit.” Gina walks up to their table, her hair half-up and half-down, in the process of tying an apron over her lacy red dress. _So pretty_. She eyes the pumpkin pie and melting carton of ice cream on the table. “Do you want me to put the ice cream in the freezer while you eat your pizza?”

“Nope, we’re doing dessert first,” Roy says, piling ice cream onto his piece of pumpkin pie the size of a slice of pizza. “We’ll have the Turkey Day Special and the three cheese please.”

“Fried cheese,” Matty adds. “And a Mountain Dew. The biggest size you’ve got.”

“Coming right up.”

“Sorry to make you work on a holiday,” Anna says meekly.

Gina stops mid-scribble on her order pad to wave off the apology. “No big. It beats sitting there while my family decides my future for me.”

“Lot of that going around tonight.” Desmond nudges Anna. She elbows him right back. Once Gina takes their order to the window, Desmond eyes the little nook of arcade games. “Roy, you got quarters?”

“What kind of question is that?” Roy grins. “Sweet! They got Dragon Lair!”

“C’mon, Matthews,” Desmond says, standing. “Time Crisis 2 might be the only thing you can beat me at.”

“Fighting words, Rhodes.” Matty pushes off the table and follows Roy who has his pie on a flimsy paper plate in one hand and feeds quarters into an arcade machine with the other.

Before he joins the other guys, Desmond looks right at Anna, juts his chin to where Gina’s talking to her sister over by the soda fountain. Seriously, what did she do to deserve a friend like Desmond?

“What is Anna Ross doing hanging out with those guys?” Gina sets down Matty’s large Mountain Dew in front of the chair he was sitting at. “I’m not judging, by the way. Just curious. I mean, I know you’re friends with Desmond, but Matty Matthews and Roy the Stoner Boy?”

“I know Matty through the musical and Roy… We’re friends. We’re all friends.” Anna doesn’t know what to do with that realization, and feeling particularly bold, pulls out the chair next to her. “Want to sit? If you don’t have to get back…”

Gina glances over her shoulder at the loud, exuberant party that continues on even without her. “Yeah, I can sit.”

It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it definitely feels like one.

“You aren’t the only one,” Anna says. “Wanting to escape when your parents are deciding your future for you. My parents invited all of their friends from Brown who all had an opinion on what I need to do to get it.”

“Yikes,” Gina says. “My parents want me to become a teacher. I convinced them you need a bachelor’s degree at the very least so they’re on board with me going to college, not so much the art major part.”

“Isn’t the Art Institute of Chicago your top choice?” Anna asks.

Gina grins and slyly presses a finger to her lips. Anna realizes her heart is pounding and her hands are clammy. “Oh, I’m definitely going if I get in. What happens after I graduate is still up in the air. Maybe by then I’ll have the nerve to be honest with my family, which is a load of crap when I can’t even be honest with my friends or my boyfriend _and_ I’m talking too much, aren’t I? What art schools are you applying to?”

“None.”

“ _What_?” Gina frowns. “Then how’s the art program at Brown?”

“I haven’t looked into it.”

As if her parents would approve of or pay for her to get a degree in visual art.

Gina’s frown deepens, but it’s quickly swept away and replaced with burning determination. “Okay, we need to have a talk. You’re _way_ too talented! That much is obvious, right?”

Anna’s heart feels like it might burst.

Just when it feels like she’s about to get a lecture and enjoy it for the first time in her life, Roy comes running at them, slides onto his knees and disappears beneath their table, shouting, “Hide me!”

“Roy!” Anna shouts. “What are you doing?”

“Striker alert! I'm going Ghost!”

Anna looks at the arcade area. Matty and Desmond are gone. Without a second thought, she’s out of her seat and running to the door. Anna’s vaguely aware of Roy following close behind her, half-hiding behind her. She walks out into the freezing cold night and sees Desmond standing on the curb and Matty shoving Striker out into the middle of the street.

“Matty!” Anna shouts. 

“Get him, Matty!” Roy punches the air. “Strike him down!” 

Seeing Matty advance towards him, Striker backs up even further, cracking his knuckles and bouncing on his feet like he’s preparing for a boxing match. “Once I’m finished with this wannabe me, your ass is next, China Man!”

“I’m Korean, you racist fuck!” 

It all happens so quickly. Matty charges forward, hands balled into fists. Striker crooks a finger, egging him on. Before Anna can shout for both of them to stop, Desmond darts forward, grabs Matty and yanks him back. They both dive out of the way just as a large moving truck slams into Striker!

Anna gasps. Roy shouts, “OH, SHIT!”

Then, excruciating silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a late 90s early 2000s teen movie without The Donnas performing as The Electrocutes or even just on the soundtrack? The Perfect Score. I've rectified it. The heist is next! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	16. Split & Trip

A run-in with Striker and his insufferable fake ass accents is the last thing Matty needs on hands-down one of the shittiest days of his life. Just when he was starting to relax, beating the school’s superstar athlete in a video game, Striker has to ruin everything. 

“Fuck off, Benny,” Matty says.

Striker eyes him in a way that makes Matty’s skin crawl. The guy clearly never learned when to shut up. “Oh Matthew, I’m surprised they’re still letting you help with the musical considering your case of kleptomania _and_ you were dumb enough to get caught.” 

“Admit it,” Matty hisses. “You set me up, didn’t you? You put the birds in my locker.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about though I do find it hi-larious that you would steal a pair of lovebirds.” Striker laughs and the shrill sound makes Matty’s eye twitch. “Were you stealing them as a present for Sandy or were you so jealous of _birds_ and their love you’d pull an Ozzie and bite their heads off? Freak.” 

Maybe it’s a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but all Matty knows is that he’s had it. Between his parents not believing in him, Sandy and Kyle being MIA, Striker being the biggest dick in the state of New Jersey, and spending so much of his energy suppressing all of these thoughts and emotions, Matty snaps and shoves Striker hard. 

“Aw, what are you going to do, Matty boy?” Striker taunts, spreading his arms out in the middle of the street. “Sing off-key until my ears bleed?” 

“Damn, you theater nerds are something else,” Desmond mutters.

“I’ll dumb it down for you, ball boy,” Striker says. “It’s like if your coach suddenly starts giving all of your playing time to John Tucker and he was poised to take your starting position.”

“That’s messed up of you, Matty,” Desmond says. 

“I was Romeo in Romeo and Juliet when this asshole was still dicking around wherever the fuck he transfered from!” Matty shouts back. “And I’m aware how lame that sounds, but I am not the John Tucker in this situation!” 

“You’re so pathetic, mate.” Striker laughs. “No wonder Sandy got smart and left you behind.”

Matty feels the blood pulse in his body, overtaken by searing hot anger. He darts forward and gives Striker another shove, this one with much more force than the last. Striker stumbles backwards and laughs, fueling the fire. 

Anna shouts his name. Roy shouts something else. Striker replies, always, _always_ needing the last say. Matty stalks forward and balls his hands into fists. He’s been on the losing end of a number of scuffles in the past, but he isn’t a scared little boy anymore. Everything else becomes background noise. All he needs is one good hit to shut Striker the hell up. Consequences be damned. 

It all happens so fast. 

Matty feels the whoosh of air as a diesel truck barrels down the street. He feels someone grab him—Desmond—and yank him back. Anna screams. 

“Oh shit!” Roy shouts. 

Then, excruciating silence. 

The Monday after watching Striker get hit by a diesel truck, Miss Baggoli asks Matty to take over his leading role in _Midsummer Night's Rockin' Eve_. 

What. The. Fuck. 

A rumor that Matty pushed Striker travels through the drama club and leaks out into the rest of the school. Several eyewitnesses cleared his name and the official investigation points to the driver who’d been up for over forty-eight hours and fell asleep at the wheel. Still, that doesn’t stop several students from giving Matty sideways glances everywhere he goes. 

Striker’s an egotistical asshole, but you wouldn’t know that with all the “get well soon” letters going around and his locker that’s been turned into a shrine complete with a cardboard cutout of him winking surrounded by dozens of flowers and candles. It’s not like he died. He’s just in a body cast at the hospital.

Matty puts all of that out of his head and with Anna’s help, prepares to star in the musical. Kyle tells him to focus on learning his lines and nailing every dance step and that the rest of the group will focus on preparing for the heist. He trusts the SAT group more than he trusts himself to not ruin the whole production for everyone. 

“You aren’t going to ruin the whole production for everyone,” Anna assures him the morning of the musical (and the heist). “You’re going to be amazing and if I yell at you backstage it’s not because I hate you, it’s because I’m super stressed out and no one is listening to me. It’s an opening night tradition at this point.”

“Good to know. I’ll try not to stress you out.” Matty frowns at all of the photos of him and Sandy plastering the inside of his locker. It’s been a week and a day since he last talked to her. In that time, she called him _once_. He didn’t answer and she didn’t try again. Neither of them have for some time now. 

***

Today is the day. 

Kyle can’t even begin to concentrate in any of his classes. Mentally, he’s walking through the plan for the thousandth time in his head, visualizing the blueprints and the actual building, zoning out and failing to contain his anxiety. He’s felt sick all day. They’re as prepared as they can be. He just has to accept that what can go wrong will go wrong. Thinking on his feet will be key.

“Hey! Kyle!”

He feels a hand on his shoulder before he can even react to the sound of his name and the next thing he knows he’s being forcefully spun around. Great start to that thinking on his feet thing. Dave stares at him with narrowed, angry eyes. Shit. This can’t be good.

“Hey,” Kyle says casually. “What’s up?”

“I saw the pictures.”

Pictures?

“Pictures?”

“Of you and Francesca in the crowd at the Electrocutes concert.” Dave’s eyes shimmer with betrayal. “Your brother said you were out on a date on Thanksgiving and you were with Francesca when you promised!”

“My brother? Dave, you can’t listen to Larry. He’s an asshole.”

“So you weren’t with Francesca Thanksgiving night?”

Kyle swallows against his dry throat. “It wasn’t a date. We were hanging out.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem that way. After I risked my ass for you! I lied to Matty for you! This is how you repay me? You can’t even keep your word!”

“Dave, don’t you think you’re overreacting?” 

“Am I? I’ve liked her since sophomore year, man, and I can barely get her to talk to me and then you swoop in—”

“It’s not my fault she doesn’t like you!” Kyle shouts, then immediately regrets it. When Dave tries to walk away, Kyle springs into action and follows him. “Wait, I’m sorry, okay? But I’m not lying. It wasn’t a date. She’s a friend. I swear.”

“Yeah, well, Matty’s _my_ friend and I think what you made me do is fucked up and he deserves to know.” 

“No, Dave, you can’t,” Kyle says desperately. “What do you want? You want me to stay away from Francesca?”

“Yes.”

The very idea makes his heart ache. He was just on his way to see if she’s in the library. He still has that bag of gummy bears in his backpack that he bought because he thought of her. Matty’s already on shaky ground after whatever happened with Striker and whatever’s happening with Sandy. He’s preoccupied with the musical and the heist on top of that. Knowing detention was a setup and Kyle’s the one who set it up, it’ll ruin everything. 

“Done,” Kyle agrees. “I don’t even like Francesca. I’m just hanging out with her for this SAT thing. That’s all. Come on, man, does she even seem like my type to you?”

He feels even sicker than before, but if Dave needs to hear the lie to not make this any more complicated or difficult than it already is, he’ll tell the lie. 

“We’re taking the SAT again tomorrow and after that, I’m done with her,” Kyle says. “Happy?”

“You’re such a dick, Kyle,” Dave mumbles as he shoulders past him. And yeah, Kyle can’t disagree. That’s exactly how he feels and what he is, but if they all get through the next twenty-four hours unscathed then it’s worth it. He desperately needs for all of this to be worth it.

Little does he know, Francesca overheard just enough of their conversation from around the corner, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes on the watch Kyle gave her. She takes the watch off her wrist and shoves it into her bag with disgust and frustration and hurt. 

***

“Anna, wait up!”

Practically buzzing with anxiety, excitement and too much coffee, Anna isn’t prepared when Gina flags her down at the start of lunch. They’ve never talked outside of a class discussion or yearbook or most recently, her family’s pizzeria. 

“Hi,” Anna says, unable to keep the uncertainty from her voice. “Do you need something?” 

“Wow,” Gina says. “That’s one way to greet someone you witnessed a traumatic event with.”

Shoot. 

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“Anna, I’m kidding,” Gina says. “And at least it looks like Striker’s going to make it. But, um, since you’ll be backstage at the musical tonight, I’ll be taking photos for the yearbook. I doubt they’ll be half as great and interesting as yours, but I’ll do my best.” 

Anna tries to press through how flustered she is. “Are you kidding? Your photos are awesome! And I wouldn’t just say that about anyone…”

Gina laughs, so gracious. “Hey, remember Art I? We were in the same class freshman year and Mrs. Morgan gave us that whole list of weekly prompts. I remember one week was flowers and you brought in photos of those orchids that weren't like anything I’d ever seen before. I thought the way I saw things was unique and different, but you’re on a whole other level.” 

“Funny. That’s exactly how I feel about you. Y-your work!” 

Anna thinks about the photos she took of Gina and the other cheerleaders and it’d look great in the yearbook, but she hasn’t submitted it for staff approval yet and she isn’t sure why. 

“Anyway,” Gina says, “is there anything specific I should be looking for?” 

“Whatever catches your attention. I trust your eye… And if Lola doesn’t get her closeup, we are never going to hear the end of it.”

“Noted,” Gina says. “Are you going to the afterparty?” 

“Yeah. Yes, I will be there.” Anna smiles wider to cover how awkward she feels. 

“Really? I usually stop by to show face at those kind of things and I never see you.”

Anna’s heart skips a beat. _She looks for me? She notices when I’m not there?_

“No, yeah, I don’t usually, but it’s senior year. There aren’t many left…”

“Cool. I’ll see you there and I’ll bring my camera so you can look at my pictures. Unless you’d rather not. Who wants to talk about yearbook stuff at a party?”

“Um, me. I will talk about photography anytime, anywhere, any place.”

Gina laughs, but not to tease, almost like she’s amused. “Me too. Good to know.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna catches Francesca openly studying them from across the hallway. How long has she been there? What does she think she’s seeing?

“I’ll see you later,” Anna says. 

“Sure. Break a leg tonight! Or keep everyone from breaking legs? As stage manager, you’d want that, right? Or maybe break some legs?” 

Anna laughs and waits for Gina to disappear down the hallway before walking up to a very curious Francesca. That can’t be good. 

“Are you spying on me?” Anna asks. 

“No,” Francesca says innocently. “I was politely waiting for you to finish flirting. Wouldn’t wanna interrupt.”

“We weren’t flirting,” Anna says, hating how childish and petulant she sounds. 

“Are you sure Gina knows that?” Francesca counters and doesn’t even seem to recognize how her words make Anna feel like her insides are all twisted and threatening to implode. “Whatever. Do me a favor? Tell the others I’m out.” 

“What?!” Anna shouts. 

“You heard me.”

“But you’re a huge part of the plan! We need you!”

“I’m sure the Architect has a Plan B, C, or D that doesn’t involve me.” When Francesca starts walking away, Anna hurries to follow her. If she thinks the conversation is over just like that, she has another thing coming!

“Are you serious right now?” Anna hisses. “Why? What happened?” 

“I thought about it and decided it isn’t worth the risk.” 

“What about the rest of us? No! If you want to bail, you are going to explain to everyone why! I’m not doing it for you! I get that you’re Francesca Curtis and you don’t need anyone, but _we_ need _you_! You can’t just abandon us!”

“Why not?” Francesca spins on her, taking Anna by surprise. She steps back, seeing a burst of emotion in Francesca’s usually cool, aloof demeanor. In a voice so quiet, she’d probably miss it if they weren’t in a deserted corridor, Francesca whispers, “People do it all the time.” 

“I know I can’t even begin to understand your life and it’d be disingenuous to act like I do, but you aren’t the only one trying to find your footing in a world that has stupid expections of you. We all are! Our little group might be super weird and have the smallest combined attention span, but I think we can do this. Only if we work together. I won’t abandon you, Francesca.”

She scoffs. “You don’t even like me.” 

“To be fair, I still don’t really know you,” Anna says, “but I’ve always...admired how unafraid you are to call out the popular kids and the faculty. I could never… You were right about me. I’m not that brave. I do what everyone expects and stay in line and look where that got me so far.”

“Um, I watched you smoke pot on the auditorium stage during detention.” 

Anna quickly looks from side to side, but luckily, they’re alone. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise her if Roy was eavesdropping around a corner or crawling through the vents. 

“I didn’t think you had it in you and I don’t know, maybe I misjudged you too,” Francesca says. “I always thought you had the perfect life. Perfect grades, perfect parents who show up to all of your award ceremonies, perfect cardigan collection.”

“Okay, seriously, what do you have against Old Navy?” 

Francesca laughs like actually, genuinely laughs and it feels like a small yet massive win. 

“My life is _so_ far from perfect,” Anna says, “but maybe so is everyone else’s… I get it if you’re having second thoughts. It would be insane not to, but we’ve already come this far and we can’t do this without you…” 

“Anna!” Miss Baggoli shrieks. A lot of people are shouting her name down hallways today. “There you are! Lola is doing her diva pre-production performance and I need my stage manager to manage!” 

“I have to go,” Anna says. “Just think about what I said, okay?”

Even after what she wants to think is a fairly effective and completely genuine heart-to-heart, Anna can’t shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Kyle warned them that what can go wrong will probably go wrong and this feels like the start of it. 

***

“Mom! I’m heading out to Anna’s musical thing!”

Desmond grabs a set of keys from the bowl near the front door and stops to take in his reflection in the mirror hanging near the coat rack. Tonight will decide his future, where he goes from here and who he’s going to become. Just like Uncle Rhodey said, Desmond’s ready to take the shot and live with the consequences. 

“Don’t forget your little brother!” his mom shouts back. 

Record scratch. _What_?

Desmond turns so quickly he thinks he might have strained something in his neck. “What?”

His mom pops her head out from around the corner. “You wanna try that again?”

“No, ma’am,” Desmond replies. “I meant _what_?”

“Your brother wants to go with you to the musical.”

“He doesn’t understand Shakespeare.”

“Neither do you, small head,” Keyon replies. “I don’t care! If it’s Anna’s show, I wanna go!”

“Too bad,” Desmond says. “I only have one ticket.” 

“It isn’t on Broadway,” his mom points out. “It isn’t even off-Broadway. It’s a high school musical. I’m sure the show isn’t completely sold out. And I’m working the night shift anyway so either you bring your brother or you can both stay home.”

“We aren’t staying home,” Keyon decides. Stubborn little brat. 

Well, shit. This is an unexpected wrench in their plan. The SAT group isn’t going to like this. 

***

_CODE RED! WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT FRANCESCA!_

Kyle has been freaking out ever since he got that text message from Anna around lunchtime. What about her? She isn’t sick or anything, right? He tried to find Francesca at lunch, but she wasn’t in their usual spot in the library. Then he tried to find Anna, but she’s been busy putting out pre-show fires with the drama club. 

Once school lets out, Kyle heads home as planned and makes sure they have everything they’ll need for the heist. 

Bolt cutters. Check. 

Halloween mask. Check. 

Rope ladder. Check. 

Kyle thumbs out a text to Francesca asking for a status update. She doesn’t reply. He calls. She doesn’t answer. He thinks about driving by her house, but that’s a little much, isn’t it? Francesca doesn’t always text or call back right away and he doesn’t usually mind. It’s just anxiety because of the heist. That has to be it.

With his bag packed and he mental list triple checked, Kyle heads back to school. Adults and students alike are already starting to file into the auditorium for the show. In all of the chaos, Kyle manages to sneak his way backstage where it seems like a dozen people are trying to do a million different things at the same time. 

When Kyle finally finds Anna, she’s wearing a headset and shouting at a bunch of students dressed as fairies wearing flower crowns and glittery wings. “Anna! Hey, I got your text.”

Anna grabs Kyle by the arm and steers him into an empty corner. “Yeah, about Francesca, she’s having second thoughts.”

His heart drops into his stomach. “What?”

“I don’t know. She wanted me to tell the rest of you that she’s out, but then we had a pretty good talk. Shocking, I know. But you know her. She’s going to do whatever she wants.” 

He swallows hard and his throat burns. “Did she tell you why?”

“She just said she wasn’t sure it was worth the risk anymore.”

Shit. This isn’t a possible problem he accounted for. He doesn’t want to pressure Francesca, but without her, there’s no way they can even get in the door. 

“That’s only one issue,” Anna says reluctantly. “The other… Well, it’s easier if i show you…”

It takes considerable willpower to not laugh out loud at the sight of Matty dressed in a white toga that cuts off mid-thigh so they can properly move and dance. He’s pacing back and forth in front of a line of mirrors. It’s a good thing Kyle finds some restraint because laughing at Matty would probably push him over the edge.

“Shut up,” Matty hisses. 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re thinking. What the hell am I doing? Were you out there? Did you see all of the people? It’s a packed house! I have to go out there and do this in front of all of those people? Honestly, I don’t know if I can…”

“Matty, relax,” Kyle says. “You can do this. You and Anna have been working overtime to prepare and tonight, all of that hard work pays off. You’re ready. Now you just need to go out there and show everyone you got this.”

Matty presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans. “What if I screw up and waste everyone’s time and prove my dad right, I’m just making a joke out of myself…” 

“You won’t screw it up and you aren’t a joke to me,” Anna insists. “Seeing you out there, having fun, is worth the hours of reading lines and the stress. Just by going out there, you’re proving your dad wrong. Screw him for not supporting you. That’s why you have me and Kyle and the rest of the group.”

“This is your moment, Matty,” Kyle says. “You chose to do this for you, not Sandy, not anyone else, right? You chose to do it because you love it. How can you go wrong with that?”

“And even if you screw up, you can try again tomorrow night and the next night and the next ‘cause you kinda don’t have a choice.” Roy materializes as if from thin air between them like he so often does, hanging one arm around Matty and the other around Anna.

Anna startles at his sudden appearance. “Roy, what are you doing back here?” 

“Why do you even bother asking him anymore?” Matty asks. He’s long given up. 

“What? I’m here to wish my hero good luck!” Roy hugs Matty who immediately tries to squirm away. “You solved my Striker problem! The dude can’t take the SAT tomorrow if he’s doped up on morphine and broke both his arms!”

“Should you really be celebrating that?” Anna frowns. “Don’t you think he’ll just try to come after you once he’s out of the hospital and lucid?”

“By then I’ll have a new plan, well, hopefully.” Roy winks at her. “Maybe Kyle can help me if this plan of his actually works out tonight. Huh? Huh?” Roy hip bumps Kyle, getting much too close, not that Roy has any sense of personal space. 

“Okay, let’s go find our seats.” Kyle pushes Roy to the door and shares a significant look with Matty. “You got this! Break a leg, and an arm, and a toe. Whatever it takes!”

“Phase One: Matty the Music Man is a go!” Roy shouts.

Kyle continues to shove Roy, especially when he steals a glance at a few of the girls dressed in form-fitting leotard-like fabric to match their wings. As they make their way to the front of the auditorium, Kyle decides fuck it and asks. “Hey Roy, has The Ghost seen Francesca around today?” 

“She went home sick after third period,” Roy replies. “I’m starving.” 

Shit. 

“Would The Ghost also happen to know why she’s ignoring me?”

“There could be a dozen different reasons for that,” Roy laughs. “Did you forget her birthday? It was two weeks ago, by the way.”

Shit. He didn’t even know her birthday! Why didn’t he think to ask?

“Nah, if it was that, she would’ve given you the cold shoulder way before Thanksgiving,” Roy muses. “Um, did she catch you making out with Anna in your car with like the windows getting all steamy and lots of tongue?”

“No.”

“Boring,” Roy jeers. “Did she find out about the birds?”

Kyle stops scanning the parking lot for Francesca’s car. “What birds?” 

Roy caws and flaps his arms. “It was a bold play. A little desperate, but Anna Ross talks to me in public now. Mission accomplished, Cap! Even though we all got thrown under the bus and Matty’s got track marks on his—”

Kyle grabs Roy by the collar out of impulse, a burst of panic he feels radiate all throughout his body. He regains his senses a moment later and lets go. “Sorry. I…”

“Not sure I’m the one you should be saying that to.” Roy readjusts the collar of his shirt, expression as goofy as ever. Kyle doesn’t know how to read him anymore. “Then again, I don’t know if that’s something Francesca Curtis would get mad at _you_ for. She isn’t exactly a paragon of morality.”

“I’d imagine she’d be pretty upset I wasted her Saturday.”

“Not the weirdest first date I’ve ever heard of.” 

Kyle laughs. “You really do know more than you let on.” 

“Ghosts see all, but they’re pretty hard to pin down,” Roy says. “Whatever you broke with her, you better fix it and fast. I suggest flowers and chocolate. I hear girls dig that.”

“She likes gummy bears and cherry pie.” Kyle feels a burst of pride at knowing that, knowing _her_. Looking around the parking lot and still no sign of her, Kyle dials her number and gets sent straight to voice message. So she really is ignoring him. Great. “Hey Francesca, it’s me. I’m outside the auditorium, just wondering where you are. Call me when you get this.”

“Uhhh, Captain America, we’ve got a problem.” Roy points Kyle’s attention to a small child trailing after Desmond. Not apart of the plan _at all_. “Aw, who’s this little guy?”

“I have a name! It’s Keyon!”

“I got stuck with him,” Desmond explains. “My mom’s working the night shift and I thought he was staying with a sitter, but apparently not.”

“What about the afterparty?” Kyle asks. _And after the afterparty_ , he adds in his head.

Desmond rubs his hand down his face. “I’ll think of something.” 

“Can we go inside now?” Keyon asks. “I want a program before they sell out!”

“They won’t sell out,” Desmond assures his brother. “And they aren’t worth the price.”

“C’mon, Des!” Roy shouts. “Where’s your support for the arts?” 

“Go.” Kyle waves them off, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes and how hard it is to breathe all of a sudden. “We’ll regroup after the show. Save seats for me and Francesca, will you? Call me if she’s inside already. I’m gonna wait out here for her.” 

_She’ll be here_ , Kyle tells himself. She knows the plan and she’ll come through. She has to. 

***

The roar of the audience at the end of the show validates everything Matty loves most about being on stage. It validates everything he thinks he can and wants to be.

He lets Lola have her precious spotlight as Helena, but feels like he did what he could in order to be a leading man and make her and the rest of his co-stars look good. His big, clumsy feet nailed close to every dance step and the one time he blanked on a line, he saw Anna just offstage and jumped right back in. Hopefully they think his pause was an artful choice and not a blunder. Either way, he got through opening night and he’s excited to improve his performance tomorrow night. 

“Matt?”

He knows that voice. He could pick that voice out of a crowd like he does now. The jumbled sound of all of the other performers being greeted by friends and family turns to white noise. Matty slowly turns and there she is. 

Sandy.

For some reason, he thought she’d look different than the last time he saw her, hugging him in her parents’ driveway before they left for the airport, bound for Maryland. Her hair might be a bit longer and she might have gotten highlights, but her eyes are the same. Those are the same eyes he dreams about. 

“Sandy?” His voice cracks, but he’s too shocked to be embarrassed. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you, obviously. Why didn’t you tell me you were doing the musical?” 

“I don’t know.” He can hear the defensiveness in his own voice. “I’ve been busy the last couple weeks and we haven’t really talked.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Matty grits his teeth and tells himself to stay calm. “Oh, so when you’re busy with your sorority I’m supposed to what? Accept it, but stay by the phone in case you feel like including me in your life? You have your own thing going on. Why is it so hard to believe that I do too?” 

“Yeah, but I tell you about my things. At least, I do when you answer my calls. Not that I blame you for not wanting to tell me about this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, growing even more defensive. 

“I mean, _A Midsummer Night's Rockin'_ , Matt? What the hell?”

“You did the musical every year of high school and you made me audition every time!”

“Because it was something to do and looked good on college apps. I mean, yeah, it was fun when we did it _together_. Why would a guy like you do it on your own?” Sandy crosses her arms beneath her chest and he’s too wound up to even think about how much he’s missed her— “Unless there’s someone else you’re doing it for and with.”

“ _What_?” Matty asks dumbly. “A guy like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sandy laughs bitterly. “I like how you won’t answer the question.”

“I could say the same to you,” Matty mutters. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way! You’re into baseball and video games and Red Bull. Guy stuff. So it’s a little strange to hear about you being in the musical and actually seeing you singing and dancing in front of everyone.” 

“What if I like it?” he asks.

“Since when?”

“Since always maybe,” Matty confesses. It might as well be to her and it’s a little disconcerting that she doesn’t know him well enough to have realized this about him before. Isn’t she supposed to be the one person who knows him better than himself? “I think I always did. At first I told everyone I only did it for you, but after today, it’s something I like doing, not for you or anyone else, but for _me_.”

Sandy stiffens her upper lip. “Okay, I answered you. Now answer my question.” 

“Sandy, you aren’t listening to me!” 

“And you’re not answering me! You can’t tell me you didn’t go up there and embarrass yourself in front of the whole school and some other girl wasn’t the reason! Was it Anna Ross? She’s the one who told me you were in the musical.” 

“You think I embarrassed myself?” Matty asks. “You didn’t think I was good?”

“You weren’t bad, but doing something like this, a lame school musical, it isn’t you.” 

Matty stares at her for a long, silent moment. He feels so far away from her, she might as well still be in Maryland. Sandy goes on, growing more nervous the longer he doesn’t respond, but he stops listening completely and fills with panic instead. _This isn’t how it’s supposed to be_ , Matty thinks to himself. He’s supposed to be happy to see her and she’s supposed to be supportive. Had it always been like this? 

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Sandy goes quiet mid-sentence, eyes wide with shock. “Do what?”

“ _This_.” Matty gestures between them. “The whole time we were together all I ever wanted to do was make you happy, Sandy, and I like to think I was good at it. I was good at being Sandy’s boyfriend. I did everything and anything for you. Now that you’re off at your fancy college with your fancy sorority, I found something I like, I did something for me and you call me embarrassing?” 

“Matt—”

“No.” He jerks away when she reaches out for him. “Tonight, being up on stage, that was the happiest I’ve been since you left, maybe the proudest I’ve ever been of myself. Please don’t ruin it for me.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I believe you, but I still don’t feel like you get it.”

“Honestly, I don’t.” 

She doesn’t _see_ him, maybe refuses to, just like his parents. It’s funny how he spent so much time wondering what their reunion would be like and built it up in his head. He wanted it to be _perfect_ , but now that it’s here, all the emotions he imagined are missing. 

Just as his lips part and he reaches for her hand, Matty feels a pair of arms wind around him as a body crashes into him from behind. 

“You were amazing!” Anna shouts from over his shoulder and she sounds so excited and genuine. 

“Thanks. I was channeled Striker like you said.” 

Anna’s eyes go wide as soon as she realizes they aren’t alone. His stocky frame must have been blocking Sandy when Anna first ran over. The class brain quickly lets go and takes a massive step to the side. “Sandy! Hi! You made it! Matty was great, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he great?”

“No girl, huh?” Sandy asks with tears in her eyes. “You’re an asshole, Matt. No acting necessary.”

“Wait, do you think…?” Anna glances between the couple (is that even what they are anymore?) and it can only be described as panic. “You think me and Matty...? _Really_? No! You’ve got it all wrong! I invited you! Why would I invite you if there was something going on when there isn’t!” 

“Maybe so exactly this would happen,” Sandy says. “Well, congratulations! I can’t believe I flew all the way here for this.” 

“Sandy,” Matty says helplessly. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.” 

That gives Sandy pauses. A single tear slips down her cheek. “So you did plan to break up with me?” 

“I didn’t plan to,” Matty says, “but—”

“Fine, Matt. If that’s what you want. We’re done.” Sandy bolts, weaving between groups of parents hugging their children. Matty thinks he should go after her, but he’s too numb to move. What just happened? 

Anna winces. “Did I do that?”

“No.” Matty doesn’t take his eyes off of Sandy’s figure even after she starts blending in with the crowd. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

“You can go after her if you want, maybe clarify some things. We have time.” 

Once Sandy completely disappears from sight, the weight of what happens falls heavy on his shoulders. How can the best night of his life turn into the worst in a matter of minutes? And the night is far from over. 

***

If they weren’t feeling anxious before (all fucking day), Francesca’s absence puts everyone on edge. She didn’t show up for the show and hasn’t been answering her phone. The rest of the group meets out by Matty’s truck in the parking lot, sure to shower their leading man with praise for his performance. He seems rather subdued and why does Anna look so worried? 

“Francesca said she’s out?” Matty asks. “What does that mean exactly?” 

“Exactly how it sounds,” Anna replies. “That’s what she told me at lunch today and I tried to get through to her. I thought I did an okay job, but since she isn’t here…” 

“Has anyone checked her web page lately?” Desmond asks. “If she rats us out, I can kiss any kind of future goodbye.” He starts to pace back and forth in front of Matty’s truck. “Man, my mom is going to freak the fuck out!”

“She won’t,” Kyle insists. 

“How can you be sure?” Desmond asks. “How do you know she wasn’t playing you this whole time?” 

“Because I know her!” Kyle snaps. He’s already stressed out and the last thing any of them need is their self-assigned “leader” losing his shit. In a softer, calmer voice, he says, “Just give her another five minutes. She’ll be here.” 

“And if she doesn’t show?” Matty asks. 

“She will,” Kyle says. “Desmond, what are we going to do about your brother?”

They all turn to look at Keyon who’s sitting in the back of Matty’s truck playing with Roy’s transparent purple Game Boy Advance. Roy watches from over his shoulder and punches the air with a, “Nice!”

“I can’t ask one of the neighbors to watch him without them tipping off my mom,” Desmond says, “but he can sit still and play video games for hours.”

“So we lock him in a room at the party and get him when we’re done,” Matty says. “Problem solved.”

“We can’t just leave a child at a high school party alone,” Anna argues. 

“If everything goes as planned, we’re in and out in under an hour,” Kyle says. Roy giggles. “Roy, shut up!”

“What if something happens to him?” Anna asks. “A lot can happen in under an hour at a party. What if there’s a fire or cops break up the party?” 

“I’m open to better ideas,” Matty says. Unsurprisingly, he’s answered with silence. 

“Well, this sounds like it’s off to a great start.” Francesca walks up from behind the group and looks far from happy. She keeps her distance, even more standoffish than usual.

Kyle fills with relief at the sight of her, but it’s Anna who shouts, “Francesca! You’re here!”

“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Matty asks. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” Francesca doesn’t even look at Kyle. She refuses to.

“Alright,” Kyle says, stepping up. “This is it. Everyone knows the plan and if we all do our part, it should go smoothly. We’ll be in and out in an hour and no one will be the wiser.”

“I have a little surprise for everyone.” Matty opens a cardboard box in the back of his truck. Everyone peers into the box with varying degrees of surprise and distaste. “After Kyle lent me that movie where that heist goes to absolute shit, I got inspired…” 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Francesca murmurs. 

“What?” Matty laughs. “Every crime syndicate needs a uniform.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get Over It's A Midsummer Night's Rockin' Eve cannot be improved on or rewritten so I didn't try, but you should definitely watch the opening number [HERE (on Youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nET7V9DsWgo) for full impact! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	17. Social & Thievish

It only makes sense that Anna’s first time going to a high school party would proceed her nosedive into a life of crime and outright lawlessness. 

Kids from school are packed into the beautiful upper-middle-class suburban home. The body heat in the enclosed space is overwhelming the moment they cross the threshold. There’s an actual rock band playing loud, live music from the living room. A small crowd gathers at the foot of the makeshift stage, jumping around and dancing, free of self-consciousness, simply reveling in the sound. 

“Fifteen minutes!” Kyle shouts over the music. “Talk to everyone you know, make sure you’re seen, pose for some pictures. Then we meet back here. No drinking, no getting high. _Roy_.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Roy asks, already on the tips of his toes, more interested in the party happenings. “I got it. Phase Perfect Alibi is a go!” 

Roy’s off before Kyle can say another word. Francesca drove her own car over and she isn’t anywhere in the foyer. Anna literally walks into one of their hosts. Just who they were looking for. 

The Ryan twins agreed to host the afterparty at their dollhouse of a home. Jane, ever the uptight overachiever, played Hermia in the musical while Roxy, her rebellious, identical twin improvised her own drum solo in the opening number and actually improved it. The former must not have fully understood what she was signing on for when she agreed to this party. 

“Jane, hi!” Anna greets her. “Your house is gorgeous.”

“Who are all of these people?” Jane shrieks. “I don’t even think half of these people came to the show!” She gasps seeing two of the guys on the football team playing hot potato with an expensive-looking statuette. “Hey! Quit that! My sister and I got that as a souvenir after busting an artifact smuggler in the Bahamas!” 

Desmond jerks his chin toward the football players and Kyle and Matty go to rescue the priceless artifact. “Jane, I, uh, got stuck watching my little brother tonight and I don’t want him exposed to _all of this_. Think I can stick him in a quiet room for an hour or two?” Matty hands the artifact to Desmond who smoothly presents it to Jane. “Please?”

“Sure.” Jane takes the artifact and starts leading them up the stairs. “The upstairs is off-limits. I locked most of the rooms so no one should bother him.”

“My name is Keyon.”

“Hi, Keyon,” Jane says. “Make yourself at home.” 

Jane unlocks a door at the end of a long hallway and motions them into what looks to be a guest room. Keyon hops up onto the bed and his eyes never leave the GameBoy screen. Roy shows up not long after with an armful of sugary drinks, chips and candy. “I saved this for the stakeout, but you probably need it more than I do. And I’ve got extra batteries.”

“Roy, you’re so cool,” Keyon says. “Almost as cool as Anna.”

“Aw, Key, you’re so sweet.” Anna hugs him from behind and doesn’t even realize she’s making the kid’s day. 

“Lock the door after us,” Desmond says seriously, “and don’t open it for anyone except me, alright? I won’t be gone long.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keyon says. “Are you gonna drink beer and kiss girls?” 

“You think I’d drag you to a party and stick you in a room for that?” Desmond asks. Keyon stares at his sneakers. “No way, Key. Look, there’s something I gotta do tonight. I don’t want to, not really, but my future— _our_ future depends on it.”

“You’re ditching me and you aren’t even gonna do anything fun?” Keyon asks. “You always say you’re doing things for me and mom, but we never asked you to. We didn't ask you to play basketball or be the man of the house.”

“No one had to ask me. I _am_ the man of the house.” 

“You’re a kid too, Des. You can have fun sometimes.” 

“Thanks for your permission, boss.” Desmond digs his fingers into Keyon’s side until he shouts with laughter. “You’ll understand when you’re older, but for now, can you _please_ listen to me _for once_ and stay put?” 

Keyon stiffens his lips and looks over the pile of junk food. “No Red Bull?”

“No Red Bull,” Desmond and Anna say in unison. He ruffles his little brother’s hair until he gets a smile out of him and follows Anna out of the room, shutting the door after them. 

“That was very sweet of you,” Anna says. “You’re really sweet with him.” 

Desmond tries to play it off, but she can tell it gives him a boost to hear it. “I’m his big brother. Comes with the territory I guess. I’m gonna catch up with the team. Be back in a bit.”

As Desmond makes his way down the grand staircase and into the throng of carefree, careless teenagers, Anna remains on the second floor landing, peering down at the chaos below. This is everything she thought a high school party would be. Loud, crowded, most definitely illegal. It’s exhilarating to see it, to be here, but she’s still cautious of losing herself in it. Maybe if they weren’t trying to pull off the heist of the century, she’d already be down there. She wants to be.

Anna spots Francesca with a red plastic cup in hand and Kyle chasing after her. He’s saying something, but the music is too loud for her to hear what. It doesn’t look like it’s going well. She had a feeling Francesca’s sudden urge to opt out had something to do with Kyle, but didn’t want to bring it up, upset her further. She’s surprisingly delicate contrary to what she wants people to think.

A group of cheerleaders who look just as perfectly assembled and menacing in name brand clothes as their matching uniforms enter through the front door. Gina waves and it takes Anna a second to realize it’s at her. Anna waves back and her heart speeds up, anxiety spiking. Luckily, she had the musical to think about and manage or else she would have been a mess of anticipation all night.

Gina slips right between Kyle and Francesca and makes her way up the stairs.

“Hey.”

“Hey. What did you just walk through?” Anna asks. She can’t help herself. 

A sly grin slips across Gina’s face. The urge to gossip defies cliques. 

“From what I overheard, he was bitching about her drinking and she asked him why he even cares and he gave her the…” Gina’s eyes go half-lidded as she tilts her chin up and touches the back of Anna’s hand very gently. It makes her heart race. “ _Isn’t it obvious by now?”_ Gina drops back with laughter and her hand falls away. “I didn’t even know those two were a thing. What do they even have to talk about?” 

Oh, just stealing the answers to the SAT, Anna thinks. 

“Or maybe it doesn’t matter now.” Gina gazes over the banister. Kyle’s still rooted in the same spot, but Francesca’s on the other side of the room talking to (flirting with) Bret, a BMX dirthead. Kyle watches her, forlorn. This does not bode well for the rest of the night. “Gotta love stupid high school drama.”

“It’s giving me a headache just watching it happen,” Anna says.

“Yeah, but I mean, you’ve always been too cool for high school crap anyway.”

Anna tilts her head. “Me? Cool?” 

“Yes, you. You always seem so focused and above all of this stupid high school stuff, you know? While I can’t say no when Isabel Evans says we should go to Taco Bell on a ‘cheat day.’ I don’t know. It just always seemed easier to go along with everything and everyone else, but you aren’t like that.”

Anna laughs and nervously plays with her hair. “Maybe. But it can be lonely sometimes.” 

“Trust me, it can be just as lonely surrounded by people who don’t get you and don’t care to try.”

Anna doesn’t know what to say to that, but she feels exactly that when it comes to her parents. She feels it deeply. She doesn’t know how to say that either. “What about Carlo? As far as class superlatives go, I hear you’re in the running for cutest couple.”

 _Really, Ross?_ She inwardly berates herself.

“Carlo is sweet, he really is.” Gina frowns. “But things have been a little…different lately. He’s not too happy about the idea of me going off to college and my parents agree with him. They want me and Carlo to take over the family business together and don’t see why I need to go to college to do that.”

“But you’re an artist,” Anna says. “Has your family seen your work?”

“They have, but all they see is pictures and the tuition price tag.”

“At least you had the courage to tell your parents that you want to go to art school…” Anna squeezes her fingers around the banister. “My parents would flip out if I even hinted that I wanted to do anything other than go to Brown and study law.”

“Is that what _you_ want?” Gina asks.

“I don’t know anymore.” The moment the words leave her mouth, Anna knows they’re true. “It was the plan since I was in the womb and I never stopped to question it until I bombed the SAT.”

Gina laughs. “ _You_ bombed the SAT? Well, aren’t you full of surprises tonight.”

“I know what everyone thinks about me, that I’m one of those girls who everything works out for and whenever I hear it, I just, want to punch them in the face!” Anna feeling encouraged and emboldened when Gina laughs with her. “I’m not some perfect robot. I haven’t done much at all with my life yet, but at the very least, it should be my choice what that is, not my parents or the School Board or anyone.”

“That’s the passionate artist in you,” Gina says. “What does your heart want?”

Anna runs her tongue across her teeth as her eyes dip down to Gina’s lips and dart back up to her amused eyes. “I—I mean, should we be making decisions about the future with our hearts?”

“I can’t answer that for you and your parents shouldn’t, but I can tell you what I tell myself. At the end of the day, I’m me. I wake up and live my life, no one else, so might as well spend it doing something I love, spending it with the people I love.”

Anna licks her lips and grips the banister with clammy hands. She’s tried smoking marijuana at school, ditched her family party on Thanksgiving, came to a high school party and is about to partake in thievery. Kissing a girl with a boyfriend is where Anna draws the line, but the impulse is right there.

“Thanks for the advice,” Anna says.

“But if it totally backfires, you did not hear it from me.” Gina swings the camera strap hanging from her shoulder. “So, do you want to see the photos I took from the musical?”

“Absolutely.” 

***

Being near Kyle fucks with her judgement. Fact. 

That’s the only explanation for why she’s even entertaining the thought of letting some spoiled trust fund brat like Bret flirt with her. She can feel Kyle watching and wonders if he knows how performative it all is, how she’s making an effort to piss him off because she’s pissed at him. Then again, it’s something she does to her father and he’s yet to notice or just doesn’t care. 

_“Francesca, I thought we said no drinking?”_

_“No,_ you _said no drinking.” She tried to walk away, get lost in the party atmosphere, scratch and claw at her insides to hold on to her anger. Just looking at Kyle’s stupid face made her feel weak, longing for the easiness between them that disappeared the moment she heard him tell Dave he doesn’t give a fuck about her outside of the SAT._

_“Francesca, wait!” Kyle caught her by the arm and she tore away violently. It pissed her off even more that he would even dare to look hurt. “What did I do? What did I do wrong?”_

Instead of answering and putting the truth out there (coward), she picked Bret out of the crowd at random and now here she is. He isn’t as tall as Kyle, but he has the jawline and tousled blonde hair of a love interest on a WB show. His father, the mayor, got him out of trouble when Bret decided to ride his BMX bike through a cemetery, tearing up the turf and knocking over flower tributes. Knowing the truth about people makes it so hard to like them and she tries to convince herself it’s better that way. 

Opting out of the heist because Kyle isn’t the person she thought he was would mean admitting she’s only in it for him or something and fuck that. Fuck him. He doesn’t care about her, just what she can do for him. He’s exactly like Ben. Fuck men in general. 

“So.” Bret leans even further into her and reeks of Axe body spray and cheap beer, a reminder of why she doesn’t bother with high school boys. “Wanna get out of here?”

Francesca hums like she’s thinking about it and when she doesn’t see Kyle watching anymore, she ignores the disappointment. “No.” 

Bret blinks like he can’t believe she would deny and reject him. As Francesca maneuvers her way out from between him and the archway, Bret definitely mutters, “bitch,” and it’s a little sad how used to it she is. It’s a taste of the life she lived before she got sidetracked, when she only socialized to get information and exposed it accordingly. Kyle proves that no matter how nice some people are perceived to be, using others is just human nature. 

She continues to ignore Kyle even after they reconvene with the rest of the group and make their way to the Curtis Properties building. The first part of the plan requires her to drive with Kyle and Matty in her car. Kyle asks if she’s okay and how caring and concerned he sounds just pisses her off even more. If Matty feels the weird tension during the drive, he’s too preoccupied with his own thoughts to call them out on it.

They all meet up in the little wooded area on the far end of the parking lot where the guards don’t bother to check during their hourly patrol. She’s watched them riding around in their little golf cart from the rooftop, mostly half-assing their job because they never expect anything to happen. 

“Check your phones,” Kyle says. “Make sure they’re all set to vibrate.” 

He’s such a natural leader that no one questions him, not even her. Kyle goes over the plan step-by-step one more time, wishes everyone luck and tells them to prioritize being safe even above success. Once everyone understands their role, Francesca, Kyle and Matty get back into her car. 

“I have something else I want you two to do,” Kyle says. “If things go to shit, I’ll cause a distraction and I want you to help everyone else get out.”

Matty laughs and only sounds a little frantic. “What happened to a hundred percent probability of success, Kyle?”

“He’ll say anything to get us to go along with his plan, isn’t that right?” Francesca asks.

Kyle frowns.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Matty chants. “We’re fucked.”

“Please just promise me,” Kyle says.

Matty continues to curse under his breath and Francesca shrugs, the closest thing to an answer he’ll be getting. She parks in front of the lobby, grabs the watch he gave her off of the dashboard and slips it on as she gets out. Francesca walks right past the statue of her grandfather and knocks on the glass door. Beanie, the portly, white-haired night lobby guard, is half-asleep behind the reception desk as expected.

Bernie startles awake and takes his sweet time meeting her at the door and unlocking it. “Miss Curtis.” He looks her up and down in a way that should be illegal. Like seriously. This man should go to jail for looking at a minor like a pinup model. “What are you doing here so late?” 

“Dropping off some boxes for my father.” 

“On a Friday night?”

“Just trying to get on his good side,” she replies. “You seriously think I don’t have better things to do? Why else would I be here right now?” 

Bernie’s suspicious, she can tell. Damn him. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I called your father to make sure you’re supposed to be here, do you?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Francesca says, “but I don’t know how much he would like it if you interrupted his Friday night for something like this. Most of the time he’s super stressed out from work and his weekends are his only time to unwind. He won’t like being bothered for something stupid, but it’s up to you. Want his private, personal number or do you have it?” 

Francesca can practically see the moment Bernie starts to sweat. It’s almost too easy. 

“Just show me to the back. My boyfriend will bring the car around to the loading dock and he’ll even unload the boxes. You just have to stand there and look pretty, Bernie.” Francesca signals Kyle from the door once Bernie agrees. She presses the start button on her watch and follows him through the hallways, sure to walk at his pace, not hers. 

Once Bernie unlocks the back door with a key code that Francesca takes note of (he doesn’t even try to hide it from her), she hits the stop button on her watch. The door swings open and Kyle’s already waiting with a stack of boxes on a dolly. 

“Sir.” Kyle keeps his head bowed as he wheels the boxes into the stairwell and loads the dolly back into the trunk. All good so far. 

“See, that wasn’t so difficult,” Francesca says. 

“Yes, Miss Curtis. You kids have a good night.” 

Kyle walks over to the driver’s side and opens the door for Francesca before walking around the front and getting in on the other side. Bernie doesn’t move from his spot and watches them drive away. The moment he goes back into the building, the clock starts. 

“Look, I’ve been thinking and you can bail now if you want,” Kyle says. “I know you were having second thoughts. Now that your part’s done, you should go. I’ll give you the answers tomorrow and I, uh, I appreciate all of your help.” 

Francesca scoffs as she parks her car in the wooded area just behind the building. “That was Bernie, the night lobby guard. He hits on everyone and walks slow as shit.” She glances at the face of her watch. “We have three minutes to get back in there.” 

“Francesca, I said—”

“I heard you, but I’ve already come this far. You can’t get rid of me now.” 

He touches her shoulder and only then does she realize she’s shaking. Probably from the adrenalin. “Are you sure? There’s no going back from here on out.”

She stares right at him and starts taking off her jacket and shimmying out of her skirt. Kyle looks away, his back to her, and peels out of his own jacket. He probably wouldn’t look at her even if she let him. What. A. Gentleman. At least he acts like one in front of her, but it’s different when he’s with his guy friends apparently. 

They pull on their “uniforms” which are just navy blue coveralls and dark baseball caps. Even if they are spotted on the security cameras, they should be harder to identify. Thank you, Bottle Rockets (and Matty). They hustle back to the dock door and briefly appear on the security camera, but Bernie isn’t fast enough to have made his way back to the bank of security cameras and the other night guard should be on break right now. 

Francesca enters the key code in the panel near the door and pushes inside the second the red light turns green. They make it inside just in time to see Matty pop out of the stack of boxes wearing an identical jumpsuit and hat. Lucky for them, there aren’t any cameras in the service stairwell. 

“You didn’t tell me how hot it was going to be in there,” Matty complains, reaching for a heavy duffle bag in the bottom of the boxes and tossing it onto the ground before climbing out himself. “What is your dad going to think about the dozen boxes of Rogaine in here?”

“That his daughter’s a bitch, but what else is new?” Francesca takes a Sharpie out of her pocket and writes the passcode to the door across Matty’s palm. She takes Kyle’s hand and does the same. 

“Alright,” Kyle says, “if anything goes wrong, we race back and exit through here.” 

No one says a word as they climb the stairs all the way to the rooftop. They locate the skylight closest to their target destination and Kyle uses the bolt cutters to snip the padlock right off. By going through the skylight, they’ll avoid most of the security cameras on the target floor. 

“Here we go,” Kyle says. “Masks.”

Francesca puts on a rubber severed head rubber. Kyle puts on a fabric Captain America mask. Matty pulls on...a scuba mask, snorkel included. 

“Seriously?” Kyle asks him. “Did you bring your floaties too?”

“It’s all I could find,” Matty whines. “I think the baseball caps are enough, but whatever.” 

Francesca shushes both of them before dropping the rope ladder into the conference room. One by one they descend into the dark, cold office space below. So far so good. Kyle lays out the blueprints on the conference room table and shines a flashlight on it. 

“Okay, so we’re here.” Kyle points to one of the largest rooms on the paper and slides his finger over to a much smaller one. “The answers are in here. Keep your masks on until we get past this last security camera at the reception area and we should be good. Let’s try to be as quiet as possible.” 

As if on cue, the conference room door _CREAKS_ loudly. To make matters worse, Matty walks face first into the glass door with a _CRASH_!

“Walk much?” Francesca slips around Matty and walks on ahead. 

“It’s not my fault,” Matty says. “My mask is fogged!”

Awesome. And they’re supposed to be the A team? Whose idea was this again?

“Alright, the only security camera we need to get past is around the corner on the right,” Kyle whispers. “It moves on a swivel so stay low and tight to the reception desk. Once we get past it, we should be good.”

“What do we do if it sees us?” Francesca asks. 

“About three to six months and a lot of community service.” 

“For us maybe,” Matty says bitterly. “I’m sure you can fake some tears and daddy will get you out of it.” Francesca grabs Matty’s scuba mask, pulls it off of his face and lets go. The mask snaps back in place. “Ow!”

Kyle laughs. “You kind of deserved that.”

“Fuck you,” Matty growls. “Both of you.”

Kyle takes Francesca by the shoulders and gently guides her so that she’s in front of him. She goes willingly, but tenses and he pulls his hands back quick. Things are so off between them and she knows that it’s bad for the heist, bad for the group, but hearing what he said about her hurt and she can’t bring herself to shake it. 

“Get ready,” Kyle whispers against her ear. “I’ll tell you when… Okay. Go.”

Kyle gives her a little push when the camera points in the opposite direction. Francesca runs and ducks in front of the reception desk. When the camera starts to swivel, she rushes the rest of the way across. As the camera starts to move back, Kyle does the same, pausing in front of the desk and moving again once he’s out of its sight. Matty shakes out his hands and bounces on his feet, psyching himself up. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Kyle mutters. 

Matty crouches low and takes off like a running back toward them. He’s still wearing his foggy snorkel mask so of course he accidentally runs face first into the reception desk. _CRASH!_

“Matty, are you alright?” Kyle whisper-shouts. 

“I can’t see through this stupid mask!” Despite his fogged-up mask, Matty crawls the rest of the way on his knees and elbows. Once he’s safely out of the range of the camera, Matty flops onto his back and rips the mask that’s slick with condensation off his face. “Fuck this thing.”

Using the light of their flashlights, the trio locates room 510 fairly easily. They haven’t been intercepted by security guards so they must be in the clear for now. Still, they need to work fast. The plan is to get in, find the answers, make a copy without shredding it to bits this time, return the answer key and get the hell out. It’ll be like they weren’t ever here.

“This is it.” Kyle shines his flashlight on a plaque that reads 510. “Francesca?”

“Okay.” She glances down at her arm where she wrote the security codes and enters each individual number into the panel on the wall. The light turns green and they hear a _click_. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with—” She flings the door open. “—a serious waste of time.” 

The room is completely empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ryan twins are from the New York Minute, which came out the same year as TPS, played my Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	18. Stakeout & Termination

“Do you think this forest is haunted?” Roy asks. 

“No,” Anna says at the same time as Desmond says, “Definitely.” 

Anna nudges Desmond from their spot between the thick black spruce trees facing the building. If you look close enough from this distance, you can see flashlights moving across the windows on the top floor, confirmation that the other half of the team got into the building. Phase One is complete. They should be headed to the file room housing the SAT answer key.

“Last time we were here, I saw a giant man-eating crow!” Roy shouts and gets shushed. In a voice that isn’t much quieter, he continues, “Francesca said it was a bad omen before it dove down and tried to rip my face off!”

“What’s with her anyway?” Desmond asks. “I can’t be the only one who noticed she’s been extra moody all night. I’m just glad I’m not in there with them.” 

“Kyle forgot her birthday,” Roy says. “Why? Does this mean you wanna renegotiate our bet about them boning? Because I personally think this speeds up the timeline.”

“Seriously?” Anna squeaks. “Do you really think this is the time to make bets on our friends hooking up?”

Roy’s wide grin suddenly fades as his face turns serious. “Wait. You consider us friends? Like, me too?” 

“Yeah, of course we’re friends,” Anna says. “Is that even a question at this point?”

Roy hums and strokes his hairless chin. “No one’s ever called me their friend before.”

“Yo, incoming,” Desmond calls out. A slick sports car pulls into the parking lot and pulls around the corner. “Who the hell would be here on a Friday night?” 

Anna watches the entrance from a pair of night vision goggles her dad keeps in the garage. It would be easier to track the man walking to the entrance to the building without the strange bronze statue in the way. She can barely make out the front door, but does see the white-haired security guard walking in their direction. 

“Heads up,” Anna whispers. “A guard is headed this way.”

“What’s he doing?” 

Anna squints her eyes and watches the guard stop halfway and struggle to light a cigarette. “Smoking. Well, trying to.” She hands the binoculars to Desmond. “Do you think he can—”

“See the top floor from where he’s at,” Desmond finishes.

Roy giggles from where he’s sitting on a tree branch right above them. “It’s cute how you finish each other’s sentences.” 

“I’ll call Kyle.” Anna pulls out her phone and her eyes go wide when she realizes she doesn’t have a signal. “I don’t have any bars out here!” 

“Me neither.” Desmond curses under his breath. 

“Here! Try mine!” Roy drops his phone and it plops right into a puddle. “Oops.”

“Perfect, Roy,” Desmond says flatly. “Just great, man.” 

Anna drops to her knees and fishes the silver flip phone out of the mud. “Desmond, do you have eyes on him?”

“Yup. He still can’t get a light.” 

Anna tries to keep her hands as steady as possible as she clicks through Roy’s contacts. She felt a little jittery on the drove over, but now her anxiety has kicked into the next gear. “Quick, Roy! What do you have Kyle as in your contacts?”

“Francesca’s Bitch! Duh!”

Desmond laughs and Anna can’t help, but join in even as she finds “Francescaz bizzztch” (spelt exactly like that) and hits call. 

“Anna, shit, he’s got it lit. He’s looking this way!”

Desmond and Anna duck down closer to the bushes. The phone rings in her ear again and again. 

“If he turns around, they’re screwed,” Desmond mutters. “And we’re gonna book it.” 

“Roy?” Kyle asks from the phone speaker. “What’s wrong?” 

“Shut off your lights!” Anna shout-whispers.

The lights they can see on the top floor shut off just as the security guard looks up at the building towering above him. They wait in silence, their hearts hammering in their ears, until the guard finishes his cigarette and heads back inside. 

“Okay, all clear,” Anna says with a sigh of relief. “How are things going on your end?” 

***

Failure feels awful. Kyle should probably be used to it by now. 

Once updating Anna and telling them to keep doing what they’re doing, Kyle searches every inch of room 510, shining his flashlight on its barren walls. “This was it. I _swear_. The guy who handed me the answers said the master went to 510 for filing.”

“Yeah, well, ‘went to’ doesn’t help us now, does it?” Francesca asks. 

His mind races back to the day they first infiltrated ETS. 

_Kyle walked along the corridor studying the placement and movement of the security cameras, counting the seconds as one camera swooping across the reception area, when a voice called out to him._

_“Hey you. Copy room, right?”_

_Kyle had turned toward a balding, middle age man in one of the side offices. He only managed a nod of agreement before the man was talking again._

_“Great. I need two copies of this on rush. One comes back to me, one goes to Ann Clark, and the master goes to 510 for filing. Got it?”_

_Kyle accepted the stack of papers and realized it was the SAT booklet. Verification Master. He tried to stay as calm and nonchalant as his eyes darted between the man and the pages between his sweaty fingers. “Sure.”_

_“Great.”_

_He curled his golden ticket in between his hands and calmly walked out of the office._

“I had the answers in my hands,” Kyle laments, staring at his empty hands in the mostly dark file room. “One comes back to me.” 

“Kyle,” Matty says, exasperated. “What—”

He walks back out, trying to remember where that man’s office was, when he hears the distortion of a radio and sees lights coming from the reception area. To make matters worse, Matty’s phone goes off, playing a phonographic “American Idiot.” 

Matty scrambles to get the phone out of his pocket and Kyle grabs it from him before he can silence it. Kyle sets it down on the closest desk and rushes both Matty and Francesca back into the filing room, quickly yet quietly closing the door behind them. 

Kyle stumbles into Francesca in his haste to move away from the door, knocking her into Matty whose back is pressed into the wall. She face-plants into Matty’s chest and Kyle’s chest presses into her back. Kyle tries to brace a hand against the wall to keep them all from clamoring to the ground and alerting the guards. He accidentally smashes his palm into Matty’s face in the process. 

“Ow,” Matty groans. “As if my face hasn’t been through enough. I have a show to do tomorrow.” 

“That better be your flashlight poking me in the leg,” Francesca hisses. 

“Trust me, I’m scared shitless,” Matty replies. “I couldn’t even get hard if I wanted to.”

Kyle shushes the both of them as they watch a light pass along the opaque glass walls from the other side, accompanied by heavy footsteps. They stay as still as possible as awkward as it is to be sandwiched together like this. Matty’s phone finally stops ringing and silence returns. Everyone holds their breath. 

“Yeah, I heard sounds so I had to walk all the way in. Some idiot forgot their phone and it was ringing. Floor’s all clear like it always is so I don’t know why I have to do this. Heading back now. Over.” The guard hums “American Idiot” to himself as he walks back to the elevator. 

Once the flashlight moves away and the footsteps fade, they can finally detangle themselves. Francesca isn’t subtle at all as she mutters an, “Eww.” 

“That was two close ones in a row,” Matty says. 

“What did I say about everyone putting their phones on vibrate?” Kyle has to physically walk way to keep from physically shaking Matty. “We could’ve gotten caught just now!”

“I’m sorry! I have a lot on my mind, alright!”

Kyle takes Francesca’s hand so he can check her watch. “It’s ten till. He’s early.” 

She yanks her arm away and he remembers how weird things are between them. Pressing up against her, pressing her into Matty could not have helped. 

“What do we do now, genius?” Matty asks. 

Kyle peeks through the plastic blinds that cover the length of the glass door. “‘One comes back to me.’ The guy who sent me to copy the answers said, ‘the master goes to 510 for filing, and one comes back to me.’” 

“Do you remember which office is his?” Francesca asks. 

“545.”

Once they’re sure the security guard has left the floor, they quietly make their way through the maze of cubicles, shining their flashlights on each of the plaques by the office doors. Once they find room 545, they tear through the man’s office, searching through stacks of papers on the desk and in the many drawers and file cabinets. 

“Maybe it’s in here.” Matty points to the desktop computer. He shakes the mouse, gives it a couple of clicks and a log-in appears. Password required. 

“You know what this means.” Kyle gives Francesca a look of resignation. 

Knowing exactly what he’s thinking and hating it, Francesca groans. 

They need The Ghost. 

***

“Hello?” Desmond answers Roy’s phone when it vibrates against the hood of his uncle’s SUV and it’s _Francescaz bizzztch_ calling. 

He’s been hanging back while Anna peers around a tree at the building just ahead of him, but not too far, never too far. If things go sideways, his sole job is to grab her and get out. 

“You want _what_?”

Anna turns around, curious to know the reason why Desmond’s voice just cracked. When Kyle reiterates his orders on the other end of the line, Desmond purses his lips and hands the phone to Roy, who’s preoccupied scanning the tree line for giant, demonic crows. 

“It’s for you, Roy.”

“Duh, it’s my phone.” Roy grins, forgetting all about the threat of giant, demonic crows. “Is it a chick?”

Desmond doesn’t even dignify that with a response and shoves the phone into Roy’s chest.

“Ow!” Roy rubs the sore spot on his chest with one hand and holds the phone to his chest with the other. “Hello?”

“Roy, we need your help.” 

He blinks. “Who is this?”

“It’s Kyle, Roy.”

“Oh.” Roy frowns. So no chick then. Bummer. “Sure, but you know what you have to say.”

“Roy, we don’t have time for this!”

“What’s going on?” Anna asks. 

“Say it or perish, Kyle!” 

Kyle sighs. “Phase The Ghost Saves the Day: activate!” 

***

“Clyde's. Dave speaking.”

“Dave! Great You’re working! Hey, it’s Matty.”

“Hey, Matty, what’s up?”

“Um, I need a favor.” Matty paces along the length of the rooftop. “I need some flowers delivered. Roses.” Sandy always loved when he gave her roses. Matty shakes his head hard. He needs to focus. “And do you think you could hook me up with a bottle of champagne?”

“Uh, yeah, man. I think I could do that.”

“Alright, nice. And, um...I need a card signed from...” Matty looks to Kyle and Francesca for help. 

“From your secret admirer,” Francesca says off the top of her head. 

“From your secret admirer.” Matty gives Dave a name and address for delivery. That was easy. Kyle’s revised plan might actually work. “Thanks, Dave, you are a lifesaver.” 

“Don’t mention it. I, uh, I think I owe you.”

“For what?” Matty asks. 

“I did something that I shouldn’t have. I really regret it, man.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m the one who put Dooling’s birds in your locker, but only because Kyle made me!” 

Matty nearly drops his phone. His blood runs cold. 

Kyle’s preoccupied, sending Francesca these pathetic, sad puppy looks that she doesn’t notice or is good at ignoring. Kyle wouldn’t do that to him, would he? Only one way to find out…

“You got Dave to put Dooling’s stupid birds in my locker?” 

“Matty,” Kyle says. “You need to lower your voice.” 

“Lower my voice!” Matty fucking refuses. “What the fuck, Kyle? You didn’t think about running your little plan by me first? I got shit on by Dooling, then I got shit on by the principal! My dad hasn’t stopped shitting on me since! Why? Why would you do this to me?” 

“I needed a way to bring the team together…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Matty shouts. “Why my locker? Why not either of yours or Roy’s?” 

Kyle stares down at the gravely rooftop with an expression that screams guilt. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking…” 

“Liar,” Matty says. “You’ve been obsessed with this thing. There’s no way you don’t have a reason so tell me. Come on, let’s hear it. I’m not doing shit you say until you’re finally fucking honest with me!” 

“I thought Dooling might be more lenient if it were anyone else,” Kyle explains, refusing eye contact. “Except maybe Roy. He probably would have gotten expelled and I don’t know the code to his locker anyway.” 

“It had to be me because I’m a screwed-up fucking waste of space anyway. Dooling wouldn’t have a problem assuming I stole his stupid birds and congratulations, I guess you were right.” 

“I needed a way for all of us to bond and get to know each other better,” Kyle argues. “I tried to think of another way, any other way, but I kept coming back to Saturday detention, all of us in one place and colleges don’t bother looking at how many times you got detention.”

“And you didn’t think like, laser tag instead?!”

“I wouldn’t have gone to that,” Francesca say. 

Matty turns on her. “Did you know about this?”

“No one else knew.” Kyle steps between Matty and Francesca like a human shield. This fucking self-righteous bastard. “It was my idea and my decision. If you want to be mad, fine, Matty, be mad at me, but it all worked out—”

“All worked out?! I’ll be in detention for the rest of the year and my parents think I’m a delinquent! But it’s all good as long as Kyle has his fall guy and gets his SAT answers.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kyle says, “but when you’re at Maryland next year, none of this will even matter.” 

“Easy for you to say. Your parents think you’re so perfect when you’re a fucking liar and you’re willing to step on anyone to get what you want! Fuck, Kyle, I can’t even look at you right now!” Matty kicks a crushed soda can clear across the rooftop. 

“What did you promise Dave in return?” Francesca asks. 

Kyle doesn’t even try to wiggle his way out of answering or try to lie to her. “I promised him I’d stay away from you.” 

“But this was before Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, well, easier said than done I guess.”

“Oh. I hope Cornell is worth it.” 

Francesca won’t look at him and Matty refuses to even be on the same side of the roof as him. Kyle remains in the exact same spot, head hanging low. The next twenty minutes are spent in excruciating silence. When a car with the Clyde’s Market logo on the door finally pulls into the parking lot, Francesca books it down the service stairwell. 

***

“Do I get a kiss for good luck?” Roy asks.

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Desmond continues to lead the charge through the wooded area, pushing aside tree branches and bushes until they find where Francesca parked her car. He hears Anna giggle from behind him. _Giggle_. Really, Anna?

“Can you two be serious right now,” Desmond grumbles. “And Anna can do so much better than you. She’s got options.”

“Yeah, she does,” Roy agrees. “All I’m saying is I’m about to risk it all! I’ll take a sloppy one from either of you _or both_.”

Anna giggles again. “I’ll let Desmond handle this one.”

“Pucker up, superstar!”

“Man, I don’t wanna kiss you,” Desmond says. 

“Or anyone,” Roy adds under his breath. 

They reach the edge of the trees and find the building’s loading dock. “Alright. When Francesca opens the door, you haul ass, Roy.” 

“What do we do?” Anna asks, sounding excited in a way that makes him nervous. 

“We wait here and keep watch. They only need Roy.” Desmond drops his hands onto Roy’s shoulders and gives him a little push to the beginning of the pavement. “Alright, Flash, you ready?”

Roy stretches to get limber and immediately breaks out in a coughing fit. 

“Roy, you need to get off that bong, man,” Desmond scolds.

“Are you sure they only need Roy?” Anna asks. “What if I went too?”

“Just Roy, Anna,” Desmond says. “We need to stay on the ground and keep a lookout. We don’t need the plan going off the rail any more than it already has.”

Trying to talk to Anna right now feels a lot like trying to talk to Anna on the day of the SAT. Desmond knows he’s making perfect sense, but he can’t be sure it’s reaching her. Just like on the day of the SAT, Desmond has a terrible feeling about all of this. 

***

Francesca reaches the back door at the bottom of the stairwell, only slightly out of breath, and calls Kyle on her phone. “Okay, I’m here.” 

“Okay, wait. Not yet. Wait for me.”

The mastermind of this whole opperation proved to be a liar and a crappy friend, but she still trusts him in this situation. _Why?_

“Okay, Francesca, go, go, go, go!” 

She enters the passcode with speed and accuracy, throws the door open and waves Roy in. He barely gets a stride in before Anna leaps out of the bushes and runs right by him with a wide grin on her face. Seeing Anna head toward the building, Desmond curses to himself and follows after her, easily overtaking the both of them. Francesca’s brows furrow as she watches their entire surveillance team heading toward her. This isn’t part of the plan. Kyle is going to have an aneurism. 

“What the hell was that?” Desmond asks Anna once they’re safely in the service stairwell. “We’re supposed to watch the perimeter! What are you doing?”

“Des, you weren’t supposed to follow me,” Anna argues. “You shouldn’t be here. If we go down—”

“The cops blame the Black guy, yeah, I know,” Desmond says.

“Then why didn’t you stay outside?” Anna asks. 

“I already told you, A. I’m gonna have your back.” 

“Francesca, Dave’s leaving,” Kyle says in her ear. “Bernie should be back at his desk. Is Roy in?” 

With no other option, Francesca motions everyone up the stairs ahead of her. “Oh yeah, he’s in, plus two.” 

“What?” Kyle shouts. 

She takes two steps when a heavy metal door squeals open and shuts loudly behind her. 

“Francesca?”

She stops in her tracks, glancing up at Anna, Desmond and Roy who go still on the flight of steps just above her. Recognizing that voice, Francesca forces herself to stay as cool and calm as she can. He’s the last person she wants or needs to see right now. 

_Ben_. 

Ben who, honestly, had no business talking to his boss’ teenage daughter the way he did, making house visits and flirting with her whenever her father stepped out to answer a call. Ben who told her she was “mature for her age” and “unlike other girls.” Ben who taunted her into smoking her first cigarette, whose lighter she still carries with her everywhere she goes. Ben the bastard basically. 

“What are you wearing?” Ben chuckles, taking in her outfit. 

“It’s called fashion. What are you doing here? Working late to avoid your wife?”

The mention of his young, naive wife wipes the amusement right off his face. 

“I could ask you the same thing. No Friday night plans with your little boyfriend?” 

“I wouldn’t exactly call him _little_.”

Ben chuckles and takes a few steps up toward her. Any closer and he’ll be able to see Anna, Desmond and Roy who are just around the corner of the stairwell and a few steps above them. Francesca walks down the last few steps and toward him so he can’t get any closer. 

“No,” Ben says. “No way. That guy is too nice for you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean, _that guy_? He isn’t your type _at all_.” 

“No, you’re right,” she agrees, “I usually go for assholes who treat me like shit.” 

“What did you expect, Francesca? That I’d leave my wife for you?” Ben laughs and she _hates_ how much that still stings. “You… You’re just a kid.” 

“Was I just a kid all the times you’d try to feel me up once my dad left the room?”

Disgusted by her own words, by the truth, Francesca tries to remember why she was so desperate for his attention. She can’t even remember. She doesn’t want to. 

“What are you really doing here, Francesca?” Ben asks accusingly. 

She digs into the pocket at her hip and pulls out the silver Zippo lighter she carries with her at all times. “I was going to leave it on your desk in your office. I don’t need it anymore.” 

_I don’t need you anymore_ , she thinks, happy and relieved to realize she means it. There was a time not too long ago where she’d go to sleep at night thinking about him and wake up in the morning hoping he thought about her while she was asleep and called or messaged her. That hasn’t been true for a long time now. She’s outgrown him. 

When she hands him the lighter, Ben makes sure their fingers brush and that confirms it. She doesn’t feel anything, but regret. 

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” he offers. 

“No,” Francesca says firmly. “It’s probably better if we aren’t seen together and we probably shouldn’t tell anyone we were both here at the same time tonight. I don’t want people to start talking again and word getting to my father or your wife...”

“You’re right. Okay, uh, I guess this is goodbye, Francesca.” 

Ben takes one last look at her and all she wants is for him to fucking leave already. Francesca counts to ten in her head after he exits the stairwell back toward the lobby before she finally starts climbing upward. Anna, Desmond and Roy are waiting for her on the next floor up, all at a loss for words. Roy’s blank expression turns devilish and Francesca shoulders into him as she continues up the stairs. 

“For the record, I didn’t know he was married,” Francesca says. 

“Um, did you know he was old as fuck?” Desmond asks. 

“Late twenties to early thirties at the oldest, if I had to guess,” Roy muses. “He’s a diiick.”

“Guys, shut up,” Anna hisses. 

“But wait, explain to me why you haven’t ruined his ass on your web page yet?” Desmond asks. 

“Oh, I would,” Francesca replies. “It’s so fucked up that his wife still has no idea, but once my loving father found out, he threatened to not help me pay for college if this ‘created problems’ for his company.” 

Roy leans on the stairwell railing, still trying to catch his breath. “Your dad sounds like a dick too.” 

Uncomfortable with _all of this_ , Francesca clears her throat and nods up the stairs. “We should probably hurry before Pinky and The Brain…”

_Fuck_. Francesca checks her phone and sees Kyle still on the line. Did he hear _all of that_? She hastily ends the call. Desmond climbs the stairs two at a time ahead of them and Roy tries to keep up while gasping for air. Before she can follow, Francesca feels a hand on her shoulder and sees Anna’s big, concerned eyes. 

“You know he’s wrong, right?” Anna asks. “Everyone deserves someone who doesn’t treat them like shit.”

“Even a slut like me?” Francesca tries to laugh and it just sounds pathetic. 

“Technically, _he_ is the slut,” Anna says matter-of-factly. “And I will totally make the anonymous call to his wife if you want. Then technically, it wouldn’t be _you_ making waves. Just say the word. Ooh, maybe an anonymous letter.” 

“With letters cut out of magazines!” Roy suggests. “I always wanted to do that in real life!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Francesca nods and keeps walking, easily bypassing Roy who’s clinging to the railing and trying to hoist himself along. She doesn’t _need_ their support, but it’s kind of nice to shut the door on the Ben chapter of her life and have people she can count on in this new one. 

Kyle meets them at the rooftop entrance like he wants to say something, but Francesca doesn’t give him the chance. She keeps her eyes on the floor and walks around him. 

***

So far everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. 

They’ve almost gotten caught a number of times and then the answers weren’t where they were supposed to be. The computer that could possibly hold the answers to all of their problems is password protected and now, their lookout team has completely abandoned their post. Here they all are, crowded around a single computer in a small, dark office. 

Matty hates Kyle and Francesca won’t even look at him. Kyle tells himself to compartmentalize, focus on what’s doable. If not, he’s going to fall apart completely. 

“Alright, Roy, we think the answers are on this computer, but you need a password to get in,” Kyle explains. “While it pains me to have to say this, we need you to work your magic.” 

“Is this the guy?” Roy points to a framed photo on the desk featuring a middle-aged man alongside Miss N.J. Waverider, a busty blonde in a powder blue bikini. Off of Kyle’s nod, Roy’s fingers fly across the keyboard. He hits the enter key with a dramatic thump of his pinky finger. 

Incorrect password. 

“Oh.” Roy tilts his head to one side. “Um…”

He tries again. Incorrect password again. 

The round of discouraged sounds from around the office don’t deter Roy. He studies the photo again, crackles his knuckles one-by-one and tries one more time. Voila! They’re in!

“You’re a filthy man, Arnie,” Roy snickers. “Uh, what do they call this thing we’re looking for?” 

“Verification master,” Kyle replies. 

Roy does a quick search of the local drive and the Mercer County SAT exam pops up on the screen. Success! Sweet, sweet success! They’re finally getting somewhere! When Kyle instructs Roy to print one so they can get out of there, it turns out you need three other passwords and three other people to unlock the print function. Fuck! 

“Can’t you figure it out?” Desmond asks. 

“Sure, just give me six months in the CIA mainframe,” Roy replies. “Piece of cake.” 

Once again, they’re totally fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	19. Smash & Total

“Well, that was fun,” Francesca says sarcastically. 

Kyle scratches his fingers through his hair, going over the various contingency plans he came up with in case things went wrong. He admittedly did not plan for this scenario, but then, the light bulb goes off in his head. “Guys, the exam’s right here.”

“Yeah, we just need the answers,” Francesca says. 

Kyle gives her a knowing look. “Exactly.” 

She meets his eyes for the first time all night and gives him a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I get it. Makes perfect sense. We do the test now so when we take the real test tomorrow we’ll have the stolen answers we were afraid would be wrong in the first place. It’s nice. It’s really nice.”

“Who wants pancakes?” Roy stretches his arms with his fingers laced above his head. 

“Wait,” Kyle says. “No, no, no. Guys, guys, guys. The exam’s _right here_. We’re all here because we knew this test was impossible to pass one-on-one, but there’s no way it’s gonna beat all six of us together.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Matty groans. 

“Let’s just try this, okay?” Kyle leans around Roy and opens up one of the sections of the test. “If it takes fifteen people eight hours to make one hundred items, how many hours would it take six people, working at the same rate, to make half as many items?”

“Ten,” Anna answers. 

Kyle checks the multiple choice. “D. Ten.” He grins. This could work. 

“Alright, let’s see.” Francesca comes around the other side of Roy and peers down at the computer screen. “A ten quart mixture consists of one part juice to nine parts water.”

“Jesus, what lightweight is making this drink?” Roy laughs. He glances from Francesca, who’s leaning forward, eyes on the computer screen, and down to her cleavage. Kyle notices and smacks Roy upside the head. “I deserved that.” 

“If x quarts of juice and y quarts of water are added to this mixture to make a twenty-seven quart mixture that consists by volume of one part juice to two parts water,” Francesca continues, “what is the value of x?”

“Nine,” Anna answers. 

“It’s there,” Francesca says. “C is nine.”

“No, wait.” Desmond walks around the side of the desk and squints at the current math problem. “It says, ‘if x quarts of juice are added, what is the value of x?’ We already have one part juice so nine minus one equals x.”

“Eight,” Matty says. 

“D is eight,” Francesca says. 

“He’s right.” Anna slaps the back of her hand against her forehead. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Kyle says. “All that matters is we get the right answers. That’s two down. Now, we can walk away, but what are we really walking away to? I say we trust each other’s strengths and talent and take a shot at this thing as a group.”

“He’s right,” Anna agrees. “Come on, guys, we can do this.”

“Yeah, unless we run out of time,” Francesca says. “We have less than an hour before the guards do rounds and I don’t think we can all hide under the desk.” 

“Right, so we split it up,” Kyle suggests. “Roy, can you access this from another computer?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s in this office.”

“Done,” Kyle says. “Alright, someone’s gotta take a crack at verbal. Language, reading, writing. Francesca?” 

“No. Me and words are not so goodly.” She dodges all the confused reactions and scratches the back of her neck, a nervous tell, but Kyle won’t call her out on it. What right does he have?

“Fine, Anna and I will do verbal,” Kyle decides. “Someone’s gotta do math.”

“I’ll do it.” Desmond drops his hands on Anna’s shoulders and gives her a supportive squeeze as he moves around her. “Math doesn’t scare me. Just take care of the verbal.”

“Well, I guess I can help,” Roy says, “but only with quadratic equations, coordinate geometry, and algebraic visualizations.” 

Everyone stares at him dumbly. Roy’s always full of surprises. 

“Aren’t you going to tell everyone about what you did?” Matty asks. 

_Own it,_ Kyle tells himself. _These are the consequences of your actions. Just take it._

Kyle forces himself to look at each of them in the eye even if it’s too dark to actually have the effect he wants. “I’m the reason we all got Saturday detention. I got Dave to put Doogle’s birds in Matty’s locker and I’m the one who tipped him off.” 

“The hell did you do that for?” Desmond asks, rage completely justified. “My mom would have whooped my ass if I didn’t convince the principal not to call her.”

“You convinced the principal not to call home?” Matty asks. “Oh, I forgot. You’re Desmond Rhodes Superstar! Of course you get a free pass!”

“Man, I’m getting real sick of you projecting your insecurities onto everyone else.” 

Matty shoots up out of his chair and gets into Desmond’s face. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me and you know it’s true.” 

“Guys!” Kyle jumps in between them and shoves them apart. “This is not the time. We can hate each other once we get our answers and we get out of here safe, okay?” 

“Why did you do it, Kyle?” Anna asks. 

“How else would he have gotten his Breakfast Club moment,” Francesca sneers. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyle says. “Hate me all you want, that’s fine, but we’re here. We came this far. We can quit and walk away now, meaning everything we went through was pointless or we can take the test together, walk out of here with the answers and if you never want to talk to me again, I understand. I’ll live with that.”

Matty storms out of the room, shoving the door and letting it clatter noisily after him. 

“Matty!” Kyle calls out, but ultimately watches him go. 

“While you’re doing this, I’ll keep watch.” Francesca walks out too. 

Kyle slumps a little as he watches her leave. He hopes Cornell is worth it too. 

Roy slings an arm around Kyle’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t hate you! That was the most fun I’ve had in detention and I get detention _a lot_.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Kyle says, “but thanks, Roy.” 

“Okay!” Anna takes charge. “Des, Roy, you’ve got the math. Kyle and I will do the verbal.” 

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” Kyle heads out the door too.

He doesn’t know what he can say to make things better, he doesn’t know if it’s possible at this point, but he has to try. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t at least try? Once he reaches the end of the hallway, he sees Francesca and Matty standing close. She touches his chest. Kyle whirls around and returns to the rest of the group, his heart pounding hard in his chest. 

Compartmentalize. Control what’s controllable. Everything else will destroy him. 

***

Over the course of a single night, Matty managed to break up with Sandy and found out his best friend threw him under the bus to advance his own future. Needless to say, the high he was riding after the musical has long run dry. Now, as everyone gets together to try to do the SAT, he can’t even contribute. Not as if he could even if he wanted to. He sucks at tests. 

Sitting against a wall outside of the bathrooms, Matty dials Sandy’s number and gets sent straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, it’s me,” Matty says. “I spent so long dreaming about seeing you again and then it happened and everything went wrong... That’s not how I wanted things to go down, especially if this really is the end for us. I don’t know when you’re heading back to Maryland, but can we please meet for breakfast and talk? Call me when you get this. Goodnight.” 

That might be the first time he ended a message to her without saying _I love you_.

“Interesting.”

“Jesus!” Matty literally jumps and turns to see Francesca watching him from the shadows. “How long were you there? You couldn’t give me a little privacy?” 

“Was I right after all?” 

“Not that it matters anymore.” Matty stands up and tries to walk past Francesca, but she steps in front of him and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, what are you doing?” 

“Remember all of that lame bullshit you said about only feeling great when you were Sandy’s boyfriend?” Francesca’s eyes dart from his eyes to his lips. “Have you ever thought that maybe you just found someone who let you be okay with yourself?” 

She touches his chest and Matty has to laugh. 

“Wow, and I thought I hate myself.” Matty removes Francesca’s hands and steps back. “I don’t think Sandy ever really got me. I think she liked the idea of having a boyfriend who worshipped her and I was so desperate for her to like me, to be good at _something_ that whatever I wanted didn’t matter. I was so desperate to not be alone I would’ve been whoever she wanted me to be. Sound familiar?”

Seeing Francesca back away and a veil of distrust falls over her features, he pushes. 

“I’m not saying I know your whole deal, but—”

“You finally got something right.” 

Matty glances over at her as she bites her lip and glances down the hallway to where the rest of the group is frankly, doing all of the work. 

“Kyle isn’t like that, if you were wondering,” Matty says with a long, loud sigh. “He wouldn’t want you to worship him or expect you to pretend or change to be who he wants you to be. No Bad Sandy transformation necessary.”

He grins at his own _Grease_ reference. Fuck it. He loves musicals. 

“Random, but okay.” 

“I don’t get it. You like Kyle. He likes you. It’s not rocket science. So why the hell are you out here with me instead of impressing him with your word play?”

“Says the guy who’s pissed at him.”

“Yeah, I’m pissed at Kyle. I’m _so_ pissed at him and I’m not ready to forgive him, but Desmond’s right about me. I project my insecurities onto other people. I wish I had Desmond’s talent. When I see you and Kyle together, I wish things were that easy between me and Sandy, like it used to be. It’s obvious he’s into you and just because I wanna punch him in the face right now doesn’t mean I’m gonna move in on the girl he likes.”

“But Dave had dibs, right?” she asks. “You boys and your stupid bro code. It’s nauseating.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Matty agrees with a laugh. “Screw it. Dave’s my friend, but he’s the definition of liking the idea of someone you don’t even really know. He’ll bitch and moan, but when he finds something real, he’ll get over it.” 

“How do I know this whole thing wasn’t just because my dad owns the building and you guys needed a way in?” Francesca asks. “At least Ben was upfront about being an asshole.” 

“Kyle invited you to Thanksgiving with his family, didn’t he? Yeah, that’s definitely something you do with a girl you’re planning to drop after the Sadistic Assessment Test.” 

Matty watches Francesca weigh her options while staring at the generic carpet. She turns around and leaves him to his self-loathing without sharing her course of action. He laughs to himself. Man, Kyle’s going to owe him for the rest of their lives and Matty isn’t going to let him forget it, not any time soon. That’s for fucking sure. 

***

Desmond studies the word problem on the computer screen. “X is to Y…”

“As this shit is to borrring!” Roy rides a swivel chair in circles until he feels like he might fall over. One of his favorite feelings in the world. 

“Man, what are you doing?” Desmond asks without looking up from the tiny slip of paper he’s writing the answers on, guided by the light of the computer screen in the otherwise dark, empty cubicle. “I swear, you’re worse than my kid brother.” 

“My mom was a hairdresser and getting to spin in those chairs was the best part of getting my hair cut.” Roy picks up speed, spinning and spinning in circles until he falls off the chair and hits the ground, laughing. 

Desmond shakes his head and keeps working. “Roy, could you focus?” 

“Why?” Roy flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “You seem set. What score do you need on the test, anyway?”

“900.” 

“Shit. You didn’t get 900 the first time you took it? And you’re taking the math section for us?!”

“I was scared of the verbal,” Desmond says. “I could ace the math and still not get 900.”

“Oh.” Roy tries to jump up from his back onto his feet, but just flops onto his back like a fish on dry land. “If you don’t get 900, are you just gonna go pro anyway?” 

“If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be here. You don’t know my moms, man. She’s the one who’s all about college degrees. I’ve thought about it, you know. I’ve thought about it a lot. Hell, I’ve even done the math. If I blow my knee out in college, all I got is credits. If I blow my knee out in the NBA, I got a four-year guaranteed contract. Millions.”

“What does she say when you tell her that?”

Desmond stares even harder at the computer screen. “I haven’t. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Like I said, you don’t know my mom.”

“At least you have a mom,” Roy points out. Desmond loses all thought of x and y and sits back in his seat trying to make out the details of Roy’s suddenly stricken face in the dark office. “My mom is dead. Both of my parents are. My cousin took me in, but he has his own thing, he’s never really around. Hell, all I know about where I’m from and my culture, I learned on the internet. But if my mom wasn’t...yeah. I think I could talk to her. I wish I could…” 

Roy’s eyes turn glassy and when the atmosphere becomes too heavy, he pops up to his feet and stretches his arms above his head. He doesn’t _do_ heavy or serious. He’s had too much of that too early in his life. 

“Alright, let me get in there,” Roy says.

When Desmond stands, Roy moves towards him like one would against an elite defender on the basketball court, or at least Roy’s version. He goes to spin around Desmond and trips over his own feet. Roy prepares to hit the floor again, but Desmond catches and steadies him. 

“You’re weird,” Desmond says, but it doesn’t sound quite as put-off as it once did. “But you aren’t afraid to be weird.”

“ _Or_ I use my weirdness as a smokescreen like you use your superstar image to protect the real you.” Roy falls back into his desk chair and spins in another circle. “I think we all do it. It’s natural. We do what we have to do to survive. Showing select people who you really are, being honest, that’s unnatural, which makes it even more special.” 

Roy picks up right where Desmond left off, glad to have something to focus on that isn’t his past or his problems. Roy has never understood why other kids freak out when it comes to standardized tests. It has an almost calming effect on him. 

“You know,” Roy says, “a lot of people think these questions are difficult, but not me.”

“No?”

“No. All of these questions have answers.” 

***

Francesca marches back to the office where this improvised phase of the plan originated, ready to burst in there and say what exactly? Her indecisiveness turns to uncertainty when she sees Kyle and Anna sitting close behind the bulky computer unit, discussing sentence completion. 

Kyle and Anna make sense together with their All-American blonde hair and preppy disposition. Her early onset dislike for Anna may have been because of her seemingly perfect life, but her high compatibility with Kyle and tendency to buzz around him might have added to it on some subconscious level. Kyle’s the one who brought Anna into all of this and he was always so quick to defend her. Why wouldn’t someone like him prefer someone like Anna?

“Sometimes a writer needs to find only one fact,” Anna reads, “but he may blank much energy tracking down that piece of information.” 

“Expend,” Kyle says, writing it down on a scrap of paper. “B.” 

“Speaking of writers, what did you do to piss off ours?”

“Anna, we don’t have time…”

“Oh look, benefactor is to help as patron is to support. D.”

Kyle writes that down. “Irony is to contrast as drama is to conflict. C.” He writes that down too. “Francesca trusted me and I betrayed that trust so she hates me now and she has every right to. It just sucks because I thought we really…”

“Jovial is to jolly as valuable is to precious,” Anna says sympathetically. “I’m sure it isn’t anything you can’t fix. Even with Matty. It might take some groveling and knowing Francesca, public humiliation, but you’re going to try at least, right?” 

“What letter was that answer?” 

“A for agreement.” 

“Acknowledge is to ignore as…write is to erase,” Kyle says. “E.”

“Surmount is to obstacle as overcome is to difficulty. D. Is it me or are these analogies strangely spot-on? It has to be a sign.” 

Having heard enough and ready to abort her half-assed mission, Francesca turns away when Anna happens to glance up and catch her half-peeking in. 

“Francesca!” Anna calls out to her. “Change your mind?” 

Kyle quickly turns his attention back to the computer. Well, that’s encouraging. 

“Actually, can I borrow Kyle for a minute?” Francesca asks. 

“We’re running out of time,” Kyle replies without taking his eyes off of the screen. “We can talk once we get this done and get out of here.” 

“I’ll do the stupid verbal section of the test,” Francesca says. “I just need a minute.” 

“You did your part, you got us in,” Kyle reminds her. “Leave the rest to us.” 

Francesca narrows her eyes, annoyed at how stubborn he can be. She looks to Anna instead and jerks her head toward the door. Message received loud and clear, Anna practically springs out of her chair, eager to escape the obvious tension. 

“That sounds great,” Anna says. “While you work on this, I am going to check on the guys, make sure they’re staying on task and see how far along they are.”

“Good idea,” Francesca agrees. 

Even after Anna makes her escape, Francesca remains in the doorway and just watches Kyle stare at the computer screen and scroll down using the loud wheel on the mouse. Ben wasn’t wrong. Kyle isn’t her type _at all_. He’s blonde and built like a second string athlete and he’s _so nice_. He isn’t in a band, doesn’t drive a hot rod, doesn’t tell her he can’t stop thinking about her one day just to ignore her calls for the next two weeks. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to play this. She doesn’t know what to do with the way she feels about him. 

“How’s Matty?” Kyle asks. 

“Pissed at you, but loyal.”

“Is that meant to make me feel even worse?”

Francesca tells herself to be bold and so she sits in the chair next to him and tries to make eye contact. “I was actually relieved when my parents finally got divorced. They were both cheating on each other, argued _all the time_. I remember being _so_ angry and according to my friends at the time, not much fun to be around so I said screw them, screw everything and then I was alone all the time. That’s when Ben came along…”

“Ben from the party Ben?”

“Yup. Married Ben. I know you heard me talking to him downstairs.” Francesca wraps her arms around herself. “He made me feel special, told me I wasn’t like other girls. I was mature for my age. All of that bullshit. I really liked him and really wanted him to like me so it sucked when I overheard him mention his wife to my father. I told myself I'd never let some guy make me feel so stupid ever again and that’s why it sucked when I overheard you telling Dave that once this SAT thing is over, you’re done with me.”

She forces herself to search his expression and be objective, not just see what she wants to see. That’s where she went wrong with Ben after all. That’s where she goes wrong with a lot of things. As expected, Kyle is much too earnest to be able to hide what he’s feeling. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline and his lips part, shocked. 

“So what’s the truth?” Francesca asks. “All the time we spent together, was it just a way to keep me involved so you’d have access to the building? Was any of it real?”

“Of course it was real. You think I’d be more honest with Dave than I am with you?”

“I know what I want to think, but I’ve been wrong in the past so I tend to believe facts over people these days…”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Kyle reaches for her hand, but stops himself before he can touch her. “I’m sorry if I ruined things. I just… I wanted this to work _so badly_ , I told myself I was prepared to make sacrifices to get it. I never meant for you or Matty to be collateral damage. For what it’s worth, I like spending time with you. I like _you_ , Francesca. More than I ought to probably...”

“More than you ought to?” Her silly heart quickens. “What’s that mean?”

“Dave has had a thing for you since sophomore year.”

“I don’t like Dave, not like that.” 

“And Matty? Bret?”

“I like _you_ , dumbass,” Francesca says. “I didn’t understand it, _you_ , at first, why you want to be around me even when we aren’t even talking about the heist. I guess I got so used to people getting sick of me and leaving. I mean, I get it, I’m a total bitch and…hard to love…”

“I’d say harsh, honest, but you make me laugh.” Kyle smiles fully and it’s stupid they aren’t sitting closer. “I can’t speak for other people, but that’s on them, not you. We can be sitting in the library, not say a word to each other, and when I’m walking to class, I already want to see you again. I've never had that with anyone before and, trust me, I didn’t devise a way to steal the answers to the SAT just to meet girls—”

“Oh, you could have fooled me.”

“But I’m glad I got the chance to get to know you.” Kyle musters up every ounce of courage he has and takes her hand. It’s more confident, more intentional than his usual, fleeting, tender touches. “You mean more to me than a way in and I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what you want.”

“That’s a long time,” she says. 

“I’m counting on it. You aren’t hard to love, Francesca. I’m living proof of that.”

His eyes blink repeatedly as if he hadn’t meant to imply what that implies. Before he can take it back, stutter through a retraction, Francesca presses her lips to his. The kiss is frantic at first and then cautious. When Kyle responds, kissing her in return, it’s with that same gentleness she’s come to associate with him, a gentleness she thinks she’s been missing in her life before him. 

Francesca breaks the kiss, pulling back for a breath. “I get that you had good intentions."

"Not an excuse," Kyle says. "I'll earn your trust back, I swear. Whatever it takes."  


She believes him. God help her she does. 

Francesca nods and kisses him again, fully aware that this is not the time to be making out in some random, dark office with security guards lurking in different parts of the building, but she doesn’t care. Kyle seems to agree when she feels his hand on her waist and his lips part, letting her in. This doesn't feel like a one-off thing she needs to get out of her system. The more she feels and tastes, the more she wants. 

Kissing Kyle is even better than she imagined in the times she let her mind wander unchecked. She’s been kissed before, aggressively and eagerly and sloppily. Kissing Kyle is sweet and warn and steady. When she can feel him smiling against her mouth, she feels herself smile in return. It feels good to smile, to be held, to be wanted. 

“When I’m with you,” Kyle says, “I’m only thinking about you, not the SAT, not Cornell, just _you_.”

“That sounds...dangerous.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t mind.” They barely pull apart and he’s initiating the kiss this time. She maneuvers her way out of her chair and into his lap as his arms wind around her waist to help her keep her balance. Francesca pulls away when something on the computer screen catches her attention and Kyle presses gentle kisses just below her ear and then her neck. 

“By the way, the answer to that last one is D, not A,” Francesca says, shifting her hips until she’s comfortable on his lap. “The pithy comments of that brilliant and delightful woman were an _elixir_ that we found extraordinarily exhilarating.”

“See, this is why I suggested _you_ for this section,” Kyle says. “So, will you help me with this so we can get out of here and I can buy you breakfast?” 

Francesca grabs the pen, relaxing into Kyle as he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah,” she says. “Breakfast sounds nice.” 

***

“Did Kyle and Francesca kick you out so they could finally maul each other?”

After checking on Desmond and Roy who are working diligently and working well together, Anna comes across Matty eating barbecue flavored chips. He seems a lot calmer than when he left the office after exposing his best friend. 

“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out, but it’d be nice if they resolved whatever’s going on there.” Anna sits next to Matty and takes a few chips when he offers the bag to her. “Did you raid the break room?”

“There’s literally a whole box of ‘em. No one will notice one bag of chips missing.” Matty tosses a chip up into the air and catches it in his mouth. 

“So, I just wanted to say sorry again about whatever I interrupted earlier with Sandy.” 

“It’s fine, Anna, seriously. We were going to have that conversation sooner or later. I’m sorry you got dragged into it.” He grows a little sullen at the reminder and Anna curses herself. “So you invited Sandy, huh? How did you know how to contact her?” 

“I have my ways,” Anna says smugly. “The Ghost isn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeve.”

Matty groans. “I don’t know why you encourage him.” 

“It’s kind of fun,” Anna says brightly. She has fun in her life now. “I meant what I said. You were _so good_ tonight! Even though that feels like twelve days ago. I know you would have rather played Puck, but you nailed Demetrius’ arrogance and you sounded great during your solo! Near-disaster during the dance sequence—”

“I think I did fine during the opening!” 

“You were fantastic! I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a fan club by Monday. You know, Miss Baggoli was talking about doing a modernized musical version of Pygmalion called _Eliza Rocks_ for the spring production. You need to audition this time!” 

“I’m there,” Matty agrees without an ounce of hesitation. “Hopefully Benny recovers by then so I can beat him for the lead role fair and square.” Matty tips the chip bag up to his lips and eats all the little bits and crumbs. “Anna, do you think I’m good enough to like, act for a living?” 

“Well, you already look like the love interest on a teen show,” Anna teases. “Does Maryland have a theater department?” 

“I...don’t think I’m going to Maryland anymore.”

“You aren’t alone. I don’t think I want to go to Brown anymore either.” A laugh bubbles up Anna’s throat at her confession. “Wow, that felt so good to say out loud! Not next year at least. If I go to college, it’ll be on my terms, not my parents or anyone else. What a perfect time to realize this.”

“I know, right?” Matty holds a hand up and Anna enthusiastically high-fives him. “If neither of us wants to go to our dream schools anymore then what the hell are we even doing here?” 

“Friendship, I guess.” 

“God damnit friendship!” 

“Come on.” Anna laughs, tugging on Matty’s sleeve. “Let’s check on the others. It’s getting really close to the next time the security guards are supposed to pass through. We should all stay together from here on out.”

Matty doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic to rejoin the group, but he follows her without arguing. When they arrive in the original office, Desmond and Roy are sprawled out on the carpeted floor arguing about who’s going to come out on top of March Madness this year (“Syracuse!” Kyle interjects. “Carmelo Anthony has it in the bag for the Orange!”). Francesca slides their handwritten answer sheet to Anna and says, “Check our answers.” 

“I’m sure you got them all right,” Anna says. 

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of proven eyes on it,” Francesca argues. “Kyle didn’t know the difference between machination and consolation.” 

“You say it like that’s something the average person knows.” Kyle very subtly tickles Francesca’s hip, but the goofy grin on his face fades the moment he notices Matty standing just over her shoulder. 

“How’d the math section go?” Anna asks. 

“Done,” Desmond replies. “Piece of pie.” 

“I’d say it was a _slam dunk_ ,” Roy says, making everyone groan. “Pie sounds _so good_ right now!”

They discuss the essay portion as everyone works to meticulously puts the office back to how it was before they arrived. Everyone except Roy who takes the photo of Miss Waverider and her #1 fan out of its frame and draws on the back of the photo:

It’s the same symbol seen all around school. 

“What is that?” Kyle asks. “That’s _you?”_

“Duh,” Roy replies. “Who else would be leaving ‘ghost’ in Korean everywhere? I gotta mark my territory.” 

“You’re the one who keeps leaving tips in my locker?” Francesca asks. “It weirdly makes sense. Who _is_ the kid with the Percocet addiction?”

“Bartleby Gaines!” Roy shouts, happy to have the upper-hand for once. “As a future journalist, I expected you to figure that one out ages ago.” 

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been busy working on this,” Francesca says. 

Roy’s eyes dart between Francesca and Kyle as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Hell yeah you have!” 

“Can we go now?” Matty asks, leading the way back to the conference room. “We’ve been here way longer than the get in and get out plan.” 

As they make their escape via the rope ladder still dangling from the skylight, all of the florescent lights snap on overhead. From there, it’s a mad scramble to get the fuck out. 

Anna, having already started climbing, peers into the opening in the roof and whispers for them to hurry. Acting out of panic, Matty and Roy both jump onto the rope ladder at the same time, bringing it down as they crash onto the conference room table. Shit!

“Y’all are useless.” Desmond links his arm through one of the ladder rungs and jumps. With his height and vertical talent, Desmond easily grabs the edge of the skylight and hoists himself out. He reattaches the rope ladder and throws it back down for the others. 

“My hero!” Roy starts climbing next. 

“Wait.” Kyle looks around the room and Francesca is nowhere in sight. “Where’s Francesca?”

Matty nudges him and nods to where Francesca is crouched behind the desk beyond the glass walls of the conference room, clutching Matty’s stupid mask and snorkel in one hand. Fuck. Kyle walks over, about to yank on the door, but Francesca motions for him to stop. The creak of the door will definitely give their position away. 

“We can’t just leave her,” Desmond says. “It’s wrong.” 

“Fuck,” Matty curses. “Shit. Francesca knew the risk…” 

“This shit is messed up,” Desmond says. 

“Matty, you have the code to the door downstairs. Get everyone else out.” Kyle puts his Captain America mask back on and fixes the ball cap atop his head. “Captain goes down with his ship.”

“Shit, Kyle, this isn’t the fucking Titanic!” 

“Just go,” Kyle insists. “I’ll cause a distraction and give them the runaround. Don’t leave without Francesca.” He gives Matty a gentle punch on the chest. “I did a lot of things wrong and I’m sorry you got fucked over in the process. I know this doesn’t mean we’re even, but I hope it’s a start.” 

“No.” Matty reaches into his coveralls and pulls out a gun. Everyone reacts with various degrees of surprise and fear. “She went back to get my stupid mask. I’ll go, be the distraction. Get your girl and get out of here.” 

“What the hell, Matty?” Kyle asks. 

“God, I’m so sick of you always telling me what to do! You and your fucking hero complex!”

“Guys, we have to go!” Anna shouts as quietly as she can from the skylight. 

“This was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Matty reminds him. 

“Your stupid, drunk idea. It was my plan. I convinced all of us to keep doing this when you all tried to walk away so many times. This is my fault and I’m taking responsibility!” 

“You have a future. You’re going to get into Cornell and you’re gonna be great, man.” 

“What about you?” Kyle asks. “What about your future? What about Sandy?” 

Matty laughs. “What about her? I have the least to lose and we all know it.” 

“That’s bullshit. Don’t throw away your future, Matty.” 

“I’m not. If I can get you guys to the future you want, that’s worth it to me.” 

“Oh, I’m the one with the hero complex? You’re the one trying to be a martyr!” 

While arguing over who gets to be the sacrificial lamb of the story, a _CRASH_ rings through the quiet night. The entire building shakes. The security guard who’s just down the hallway at this point exchange words on his walkie talkie and takes off in the opposite direction, heavy footfalls growing more and more distant before disappearing altogether. 

“What the fuck was that?” Francesca pushes her way into the room and sees Matty pointing a gun at Kyle. “What the fuck?” 

The three exchange looks before rushing toward the window and see a car smashed into the statue out in front of the building and caught fire. Smoke billows up into the air. With a loud _BOOM_ , the car explodes, sending bits of metal flying in every direction. Kyle instinctively pulls Francesca into him and turns away as the glass windows shake, but don’t shatter. 

The handgun drops from Matty’s shaky, sweaty grasp. “What the fuck just happened?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	20. Sound Off & Take Care

Their fearless leader who came prepared with a number of contingency plans has been reduced to a silent zombie-like entity unable to do more than watch from the heavily forested area as police heave his older brother into the back of a cop car. Seeing Kyle in shock like this and hating it, Francesca steps up. 

“Larry’s going to have to go through the booking process, which can take a while.” Francesca touches Kyle’s arm and he turns to her with such vulnerability and helplessness in his eyes. “I can post bail for him. I have the money.”

“Sugar mama, nice.” Roy jokes and receives a smack upside the head from Matty. 

“Roy, this is serious,” Matty hisses. 

“I gotta get my little brother,” Desmond says. “I can drive the rest of you wherever after.”

“Do that,” Francesca says. “Let’s meet at the diner you always go to before the test.”

They all agree and part ways, careful not to be spotted leaving the site of the accident. Francesca lays her hand on the back of Kyle’s arm just above his elbow and guides him back to her car just as he’d done for her at her father’s party. He stumbles more than once on the way, but she isn’t about to let him fall on his face. They’ve come too far for that.

“Did your brother know?” Francesca asks once they’re on the road. 

“Not that I know,” Kyle mutters, tense and pensive. “Maybe I’m just that transparent and bad at heists…”

Francesca has zero experience comforting someone. She can barely remember ever wanting to comfort someone before seeing Kyle’s face right now, staring hard out the window, clearly blaming himself for everything that went down. She hates it. She wishes she were better at people so she’d know how to help him. 

“It’s not your fault, Kyle.” 

He laughs bitterly. “Every decision we make plays out over time. It’s an architect’s job to ask who will it affect, how will it affect them and how long. And I didn’t. There’s only one reason Larry would’ve done this. _Me_.”

“That’s a little conceited, don’t you think?”

He laughs again. Less bitter. Better. 

“It wasn’t all on you,” she assures him. “We all chose to do what we did. Your brother chose to do what he did. Everything that happens next is just consequences and we’ll deal with them together.” 

Francesca focuses on the road to give him some time alone with his thoughts. Kyle bridges the gap between them and traces aimless patterns over the watch still strapped to her wrist. She allows him to take her hand and thread their fingers together. It isn't the time, she knows, but after being on her own for so long, she’s happy to not be alone right now. She quietly promises to do her best to be there for him in return. 

Kyle tries to argue with her a number of times on the drive, insisting she drop him off at his house so he can come clean to his parents, assuming Larry might have used his one phone call to get in touch with them. She proves to be just as stubborn and deliberately misses the exit the leads to his neighborhood. They’re going to try it her way first and if that fails, they can go to his parents. 

Once they arrive at her house, her father’s car is parked in its usual spot in the long driveway. It doesn’t surprise her when he doesn’t jump out with an interrogation or lecture. He was probably happy to realize she wasn’t home to ruin his date. His bedroom door left ajar confirms her suspicion. She furrows her brow when she catches a glimpse of her father sound asleep in bed with a random woman. When Kyle gently touches her elbow, Francesca ducks into her bedroom and shuts the door behind them. 

“The bathroom’s just through there.” Francesca points out the ensuite and Kyle lumbers over, closing the door behind him. She takes the opportunity to peel out of the thick coveralls and collapse on her bed. The exhaustion finally hits her and as much as she’d like to sleep for ten hours, there’s still so much to do. 

Kyle emerges from the bathroom, coveralls halfway undone, and gingerly sits on the bed next to her. He goes limp and his back bounces against the mattress. Francesca drags her laptop closer and checks the online database of the booking process which provides real-time information on the status of people being held in jail.

“What’s your brother’s full name?” she asks. 

“Lawrence Jamison, Junior.” He rolls over onto his side and watches her work. “How do you know how to do all of this?”

“Doesn’t everyone look up all of their teachers to see if they have an arrest record?”

Kyle laughs quietly. “Only you, Francesca.” 

“He isn’t in here, but booking could take a while and there are three different jails in the county. I’ll check the other two and keep refreshing this one.” 

Kyle shifts closer and Francesca surprises herself when she welcomes the warmth of him pressed up against her. “Thank you. I don’t know why you even bother with me…” 

She swallows her hesitation and cards her fingers through his extremely soft hair. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“I hope you realize I have zero experience being someone’s boyfriend, but I like to think I’m a fast learner.” He tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and she thinks she could fall asleep right now and feel safe with him here. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” she asks. “Is that what you want?” 

“Yeah,” Kyle answers with such certainty it makes her stomach flip. “Is that not what you want?” 

“I questioned whether this was real or we’re just caught up in the heist and everything,” Francesca confesses. “I can’t be with someone who’s going to say something to me and turn around and say something else to his friends or worse, say the same things to some other girl.” 

“Nah, I think those are both equally bad.” He combs her bangs to one side and out of her eyes. “I won’t. I don’t know about you, but this feels pretty real.” 

“I want it to be. I want to believe you.” 

“Then believe me, Chess. I’d say we just went through one hell of a trust exercise. One hell of a second date.”

“And what was our first date exactly?”

“Thanksgiving. Maybe this was our third date. Thanksgiving felt like a two part deal.” 

Francesca rests her head on his chest. “You could have left me, but you didn’t.”

She tugs on the collar of his shirt and leans up to gently brush her lips over his. Kyle wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her more on top of him. She just barely licks into his mouth before playfully pushing off his chest and onto her feet. Francesca digs through her dresser and pulls out a wad of cash, thumbing through the large bills. This should be enough, but she decides to bring more than she thinks she needs just in case. 

“I’m going to pay you back, just so you know,” Kyle says. “With interest.”

“You better.” She’s sure to give him her best come-hither before ducking into her bathroom. Francesca leans against the back of the door with the biggest, giddiest grin. 

***

After everything they’ve been through over the course of a night, the calm and normalcy of the outside world is pretty jarring. The sun has started to come up, making the sky a mix of orange and pastel pink by the time Desmond’s SUV pulls up in front of the Ryan house. All of the cars that had been parked in the driveway and all up and down the street are gone. Zero signs of a party going on. It’s too quiet and too ordinary. Something’s wrong. 

On the third time he rings the doorbell, the door flies open and Roxy Ryan, the more rebellious and less polite of the twins, glares at him. “If you’re here for the party, you missed it by like five hours.”

“I was here earlier and my little brother was in one of the rooms upstairs,” Desmond says. “Your sister said it’d be cool if he hung out for a while and now I’m here to get him…”

“Kate!” Roxy shouts over her shoulder. 

Looking even more neurotic, with rumpled clothing and signs of sleeplessness, Kate appears at the door. “Do you have to shout? As if the neighbors aren’t upset with us already.”

“He’s looking for his little brother.” Roxy walks back inside, washing her hands of the whole ordeal.

“Oh, yeah. Keyon came to me a little after midnight, I think, and asked if he could call his mom to pick him up. I would've called to let you know, but I don’t have your number and the basketball team was seriously inebriated and zero help when I tried to ask them.”

Shit!

“Don’t worry,” Kate continues. “I waited outside with him until your mom got here and I asked for ID to make sure she was really your mom before letting her leave with him.”

DOUBLE SHIT! 

“Alright, thanks for keeping an eye on him. I owe you one.” Desmond can be polite even if he feels like he might hurl right into the closest window box of flowers. As soon as the front door closes, he turns to Anna with fear clear in his eyes. “I am so fucked.”

***

It’s early morning by the time Anna walks into the kitchen of her house. 

Her parents are enjoying their expensive, imported coffee at the breakfast bar like every Saturday morning. Their heads whirl around when they see their obedient, responsible daughter waltz in through the kitchen door dressed in the same clothes from yesterday. Anna helps herself to a croissant. Maybe she’ll add a stop in Paris on her way to Greece, visit a pâtisserie with a fantastic view of the Eiffel Tower. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Her mother shouts. “Out all night, doing god knows what with god knows who! We were worried sick! I called everyone we know! Your father went driving around looking for you!” 

“Who did you call?” Anna asks. “You don’t even know any of my friends.”

“First detention and now this on the night before the retest? What’s going on with you? Please, honey, I just want to understand. Why would you jeopardize everything we worked for?”

There’s that word again. _We_. Anna’s just fucking done. 

“Don’t walk away from me!” Her mom grabs her by the arm. “This is the real world, you remember that! You feel pressured, you deal with it. You feel stressed, you deal with it. You do not abandon your responsibilities! Do you hear me? This is your last chance to get into Brown! Why would you throw away your dream like that?” 

Anna stands her ground, no longer afraid of disappointing her parents now that she already has and shockingly the world hasn’t ended. “When did I ever say it was my dream to go to Brown? I’ve been trying to remember and I can’t. I never said that and I never wanted that, but you never cared enough to ask. And by the way, mom, I’m not going to Brown. Now you can deal with that.” 

She yanks her arm free from her mom’s grip and takes a bite of croissant as she heads upstairs. She leaves her parents stunned and it feels incredible! Feeling so much lighter, Anna skips all the way up to her room. She tosses the Brown directory into the trash along with a stack of SAT practice books. No use for those anymore. 

After a much-needed shower, Anna dries her blonde curls and goes through her closet, searching for an outfit that captures how confident and reckless she feels right now. No frumpy cardigan today! She puts on a tank top that shows off more skin than Old Anna would ever feel comfortable with and jeans that highlight her assets. 

Walking out her front door, she’s greeted by the sun shining bright in a cloudless sky and birds singing from a nearby tree. She drives to the designated meet-up spot and takes a moment to appreciate the new day. She lifts her camera towards the sky, eager to document the moment she finally came clean to her mom.

“Hey! Anna!” 

She whirls around and sees Gina outside of her family’s pizzeria that’s across the street and a few storefronts down from the diner. She leans on the handle of a broom and waves. Anna waves back, glances up and down the street and jaywalks over. 

“Why do you look like you haven’t gone to sleep yet?” Gina asks. 

“Because I haven’t.” Anna giggles, past that threshold of exhaustion and feeling almost giddy. “Are you busy? Do you want to get breakfast?” 

Gina glances behind her to where Anna can make out Carlo talking and laughing with her father. Gina leans the broom up against the large picture window and gives Anna a reckless smile. 

“Sure,” Gina says. “I love breakfast.”

***

Matty heads straight to the kitchen once he gets home. The lack of sleep might be to blame for him feeling like crap, but he’s pretty sure he’s dehydrated too. Matty stops in his tracks when he sees Sandy sitting with his mom. It’s a familiar sight or at least it used to be. Now, seeing his mom fawn over Sandy just makes him sad. And what the hell is with people just showing up at his house unannounced and hanging out with his mom? 

“Matthew, you look exhausted! Did you and Kyle stay up all night playing video games again?”

“Something like that.” Matty scratches his fingers through his greasy hair plastered to his forehead, hyper-aware he smells like stress-sweat. Honestly, this is the last thing he needs right now. “Sandy, what are you doing here?” 

“Matthew, where are your manners?” his mom scolds him. “After Sandy came all this way to see you in your musical? She spent all morning telling me how wonderful you were! Honey, I can’t say I understand, but if you really like acting and you’re committed to it, I’d love to see you perform.”

“There’s another show tonight,” Sandy says. “And all weekend.” 

“Then I’ll be there,” his mom promises. “And we’ll see if I can drag your father along.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Um, Matty, could we talk?” Sandy asks. 

Matty motions for Sandy to walk ahead of him down to the basement. He grabs a bottle of water, but pauses when he sees his older brother reading the sports section in front of the TV in the living room. Matty waits until his mom starts washing dishes before walking up to Jack and dropping the stupid gun onto the coffee table. 

“Fuck, Matty, what the hell?” Jack quickly takes the gun and glances over at their mom, but her back remains to them. 

“I don’t know what you were planning to do with this and I don’t want to know.” Matty lowers his voice for his mom’s sake. “I don’t need to because I’m not going to end up like you, Jack.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how you feel in ten years.” 

“Yeah, we will.” Matty heads down to the basement and finds Sandy sitting on the couch, flipping through his copy of A _Midsummer Night's Rockin_ ' _Eve_. He cringes when he remembers all of Anna’s notes in the margin in her neat, girly handwriting. “You got my message?” 

Sandy nods. “I’m sorry if I ruined Opening Night for you and I didn’t lie to your mom. You were great. I was just shocked and...scared. Seeing you up there on stage, you just seemed so different from my Matty…”

“That’s because I am. I’m different, but so are you.” 

“I went to college, Matt. I grew up. You can’t expect me to not change.”

“I know. You’re allowed to change, but so am I and it’s hard to do that together when we’re a hundred seventy-five miles apart...”

“A hundred seventy-five point two miles.”

“A hundred seventy-five point two miles,” Matty echoes with a soft smile. 

“So does this mean we’re really breaking up and you aren’t coming to Maryland?” 

“I think, yeah.” Matty sits beside her on the saggy couch. “For a long time I was convinced being your boyfriend was the only thing I was good at.” Sandy’s mouth opens like she’s going to argue, but he cuts her off. “No, really, that’s what I thought of myself and now, I think it’s time to figure out who I am outside of that and us and I don’t know, who I wanna be or whatever.” 

“Wow, Matt, that’s so mature of you.” Sandy smiles at him and he still loves that smile, still feels the way his stomach gives a little flip, but he knows it’s for the best. “It sounds like Anna Ross is a good influence on you.” 

“It’s not _like that_ ,” Matty says. “What about you back in Maryland?” 

“I never cheated on you if that’s what you’re asking.”

He feels relief and closure at finally knowing, but the impact of it is much milder than what it would have been a week or maybe twenty-four hours ago. “But you have options and now you’re free to see where it goes if you want.” 

She nods, but averts her eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of discussing that with him. “Okay. And you should definitely see where this acting thing goes. You were _really_ good. I mean that sincerely.” A smile lights her face as she gives him a hug. “Maybe I’ll see you on Broadway one day or in a movie and I’ll get to brag that I was movie star Matty Matthew’s first love.” 

He chuckles and leans into her, savoring this moment for as long as it lasts. “Thanks. And I, uh, I hope you have the best time in Maryland. I want you to have the best life possible.”

_Even if I’m not in it_ , he thinks. And simply lets himself freefall into a state of acceptance. 

“I want the same thing for you, Matt.” 

***

When he sees his mom’s secondhand sedan parked in the driveway, Desmond seriously entertains the thought of driving away and getting Roy to work his ghostly magic and make him a whole new identity with a new birth certificate, driver’s license and everything. Knowing his mom, she would find a way to hunt his ass down and Anna would gladly help. He has to face the music eventually, might as well be now. 

“Desmond Wilt Rhodes, you have some explaining to do! What in the hell possessed you to take your little brother to a high school party, lock him in a room and leave him there?!” 

“Would you have rather he stay home alone?” Desmond asks. 

Her eyes bulge, so deeply offended that he would even try to answer her question with a question. “I would rather my oldest son go home with his little brother and stay there after the show. Was that not the plan, Desmond?” 

“Yes, ma’am, but Anna never comes out to parties and she did last night. I couldn’t miss that! It wasn’t even like a party-party. It was a drama nerd party.”

“No, nu-uh don’t try to blame this on Anna. _You_ made the choice to go to the party and bring Key. That’s on you and you alone. I can’t believe you would do that! I can’t believe I had to pick him up after you just left him there long after midnight! Where did you go? Why weren’t you there?” 

“I was helping out some friends with something.”

“What friends?” 

Desmond glances over his shoulder to where Roy is passed out in the front seat of his uncle’s Cadillac, head tilted back, mouth wide open, a portrait of pity. 

“That’s Roy from my SAT group,” Desmond explains. “I’m not gonna lie to you. He is trouble, but his parents died when he was a kid so he doesn’t have a mom to keep him on the right path like I do. He’s the one who tried to convince me that I should talk to you ‘cause if he had a mom, he’d talk to her about all the important stuff in life...” 

Eyeing him carefully, his mom crosses her arms over her chest. “Such as?” 

“I know you want me to go to college, but what if I get hurt?” Desmond asks. “At least, if I get hurt in an NBA game, I’ll have that guaranteed contract, which means millions to take care of you and Keyon.” 

“Okay, if you think you have all the answers, answer me this. Who took care of you all your life?” When he parts his lips to answer, she holds her hand out. “That was rhetorical, baby. I’ll tell you. _Me_. And I will continue to take care of you long after you’re on your own two feet because that’s what moms do.”

“But who takes care of you, mom? I should!” Desmond says with conviction. “I’m grown. I’m the man of the house, aren’t I? When do you finally get to rest and have a life of your own?”

“You don’t think I have a life of my own?”

“I dunno. What do you do other than work and take care of me and Key?”

“Oh, I’ve lived. I’ve had decades before you were even thought of. I’ve lived long enough to know what’s important in life and for me, that’s you and your brother. You want to be the ‘Man of the House’ and take care of us, but you bring your little brother to a party and leave him alone there? You want to go into professional basketball without experiencing it on a college level and without a backup plan? And if you do get hurt, what then? I’d rather you have other career options than a bank account ravaged by medical bills and a mortgage on a mansion you impulse-buy because you’re suddenly a big shot baller. You understand that, right?” 

“You don’t know it’ll work out like that.” 

“Well, you don’t know it’ll work out if you declare for the draft out of high school either. I understand your thought process, Des, and I’m glad you’re thinking seriously about your future, but you see where I’m coming from, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you got some points.” 

His mom lets out this long-suffering sigh that’s also tinged with amusement. “Okay, we’re going to talk about this more, _a lot_ more, but I’m open to the idea of a compromise. You go to St. John’s for a year, see what college life and the NCAA is all about. I get to see you play in the Sweet Sixteen and brag about my son being in college. Then after that, we’ll see where you’re at, how you’re feeling and then it’s your decision to stay or go. Can we do that?” 

He doesn’t agree right away, but it does sound fair. “Okay, we’ll talk about it some more.” 

“Okay. And don’t think there won’t be consequences. Once you’re done taking the SAT today, those car keys are going straight into my purse. The next time you go to a party might be after graduation.” 

“What about after we win the state championship?” Desmond tries to bargain, pouring all of the charm he inherited from her into his plea. “C’mon, mom, it’s my last state championship!”

“As if you’ll be winning a chip with that jump shot. _Please_.” 

Desmond hangs his head in defeat. Keyon definitely got his verbal dunking abilities from their mom. “Yes, ma’am, after today, my life will be nothing, but basketball, school and home.”

Completely boring and crime-free. After the night he’s had, that sounds like paradise. 

“And don’t you forget it.” Desmond’s mom turns her attention back to Roy with another long, drawn-out sigh. Without another word, she walks right over and opens the passenger side door, startling Roy awake. Her nose wrinkles at the smell of marijuana clinging to his clothes. “How long since your mother passed, baby?” 

Roy blinks repeatedly and straightens in his seat. He glances at Desmond who can’t offer him any support except what’s meant to communicated, _do what the lady says._

“Nine years ago. I was eight.”

“That’s a shame.” Her expression softens, but only slightly. “My son tells me you encouraged him to talk to me, which means you’re a smart boy, Roy, so why are you doing a stupid thing like drugs?”

“Something to do?” Roy’s voice goes up like it’s a question and Desmond’s mom gives him a head tilt as if to say _try again_. Roy scrubs his hand over his face and through his dark hair, pushing his beanie halfway off his head. “It’s like, when I’m high I don’t have to think about things. I feel so far away from my body and everything and I don’t have to deal with any of it...” 

“Oh, Roy. Life is hard enough, especially when it deals you an unfair hand, but that’s why we have people in our lives who we can depend on. I’m guessing that’s why my son was with you instead of watching his little brother last night.” Roy glances over her shoulder at Desmond who waves his arms in the air as if to say _go with it_. She turns and Desmond immediately stops, folding his hands behind his back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Roy says solemnly. “I, uh, apologize. Won’t happen again.” 

“I raised my boys to be good men and help those who need it so it’d be hypocritical of me to turn you away. Come on, Roy. Come in, get yourself a shower. Some of Desmond’s old clothes might be a little big on you, but they’re clean. Can’t have you going into the exam room smelling like old bong water.”

“Mom, how do you know what old bong water smells like?” Desmond asks. 

“Uh, I’ve been thinking about that,” Roy says. “Mrs, uh, Desmond’s mom. I’m not taking that exam. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not going to college and, see, if I did, I’d just be taking the place of someone that really wanted to be there, a lot more than me, like a lot a lot, which would be very, very bad and, uh, selfish.”

Desmond’s mom appraises Roy with a bit of a smile. “Oh, I knew you were a smart one, Roy, but there’s a whole lot of dumb dribbling out of your mouth right now. Did you hear what I said about a shower and clean clothes?” 

“Uh...yes. Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll find I don’t like to repeat myself.” She places both hands on her hips, a power stance if there’s ever been one. “Get your ass out of that car and inside now!” 

Roy scrambles to do as he’s told just to be yanked back by the seat belt still across his chest.

Desmond chuckles, but it’s a fond sort of sound. “Fool.”

***

Eventually, Larry emerges from the Princeton percent looking a little rough and weary, not that Kyle can judge after being awake for over twenty-four hours now. Once face-to-face, the brothers just stare at each other for a stretch of silence. There’s so much to say and neither knows where to begin. It’s funny how different things can look in the daylight.

Larry finally breaks the ice. “So how’d it go?”

“Better than it could’ve gone, thanks to you.” Kyle frowns deeply. “Did you call home?” 

“Nope. Did you?”

“No.” Kyle kicks at the pavement. “You shouldn’t have done that, Larry.”

“No?” Larry laughs flatly. “Hate to break it to ya, little brother, but if I didn’t, you and all of your little friends would’ve been toast. Bye-bye, Cornell. Bye-bye big, shiny future. I saw the lights snap on on the top floor and you hadn’t come back out yet so I knew you were screwed. Jesus, what happened to you, kid?”

“What happened to me? What happened to you, Larry? What are mom and dad gonna say? You got arrested!” 

“Lemme ask you this. You’re a parent. Which do you prefer, the son living above your garage getting a bit tipsy and smashing his brother’s car into private property or—” Larry pokes Kyle hard in the chest. “—a son who cheats his way into college. Gets arrested for trying to _cheat_ his way into college. Next time you pull off a heist, don’t leave your step-by-step plan on my bed, idiot.”

Kyle stares at his sneakers, jaw tense. “You saw it and?”

“Snuck it back in your fun box of blueprints without you noticing.” 

“Then why didn’t you bust me before?” Kyle asks. 

“You’re gonna make your choice regardless of what my dumbass says. You’re too much of a stubborn little shit like that. But I wasn’t about to let you go down for something _this_ idiotic.” 

“Why?” 

“Shit, Kyle,” Lary laughs, “do you even have to ask? Did you know that every Christmas after you go to bed, the rest of us sit up, look at whatever gingerbread monument you made that year and talk about how proud we are of you? How great it is to see this kid, right, with all this talent, who’s always known what he wants to do with his life. And how he deserves that because he’s a good person and he works so hard and does it the right way.”

Ouch. 

Just another consequence of his actions he’ll have to live with. 

“Every Christmas for how long?” Kyle asks. 

“I don’t know. Since that time you made fucking Yankee Stadium outta gingerbread.” 

“I was nine.”

“There you go! That long!”

Kyle can’t help, but see his brother in a new, different light. He was willing to sacrifice everything for his dumb little brother. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to grow up and be like Larry after all. 

“You don’t think I’d want to sit up with my family on Christmas?” Kyle asks. 

“You’d always pass out after eating all that frosting and candy while gingerbread architecting. And you’d just stress us out. You’re always so tense and thinking too much.” Larry grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him. “Shit, man, when I told you to loosen up and live a little, I meant do something fun, get laid, not _this_. Now we know, huh? Never take advice from anyone who lives above a garage.”

“No, it’s good advice,” Kyle says. “I owe you, Larry.” 

“No biggie. It was my first offense and I’m a white male MTV reality star. I’ll probably get probation and or fined, which’ll probably be less than the price of fixing your Cutlass.” Larry catches sight of Francesca in the driver’s seat of her car and wiggles his eyebrows. “But who needs a car when you’ve got a hot redhead in an even hotter car to drive you around, huh?”

“Shut up, Larry.” Kyle shoves him. “She paid your bail so you better fucking behave. I mean it.” 

“She the reason you did all of this?” Larry asks. “‘Cause that I might get.”

“I kind of brought her in,” Kyle says, and can’t help, but smile. Francesca notices the two of them staring at her and flips them. He smiles even wider. “I wouldn’t have gotten through it without her. That’s for sure.”

“Aw, is that so, Romeo?” Larry hangs an arm around his brother’s neck. “You realize that if you break that girl’s heart, she’s gonna kick the shit outta you and then mom’s gonna kick the shit outta what’s left of you, right?” 

He’s right and if that were to happen, Kyle knows he would fully deserve it. Now that he sees everything he’s lucky enough to have, what he was stupid enough to risk, Kyle knows better about a lot of things. The people willing to stay by his side even when he’s being an asshole mean more to him than any test answers, more than any school. He’ll find a way to make his dream a reality and this time he’ll do it without stepping on the people he loves. 

***

An hour before the doors of the testing site officially open, six once strangers, now friends, meet up at the SRR Diner. 

Anna’s already sitting at the counter eating breakfast and laughing at a story Gina tells her about the swim team. Kyle raises his eyebrows at their sudden closeness while Francesca just laughs and tugs on his arm. 

“Is it too early for a rootbeer float?” Francesca muses. 

“It’s never too early for a rootbeer float.” Kyle sinks into the plush booth, finally acknowledging the exhaustion he feels deep in his bones. He reaches for Francesca’s hand and she flinches. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s not you,” she says quickly. “I’ve…never held hands with anyone in public. I’ve never been…the kind of girl you take out in public.”

Kyle takes her hand and hold it tight. “Does that mean you don’t kiss in public either?”

“You want to kiss me in public? You know, public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.” 

“Well, they just have to deal with it.” He kisses her sweetly, the way she deserves to be kissed. 

Anna clears her throat, standing near their table with the biggest grin. “You made up I see.” 

Francesca raises an eyebrow at her and asks, “Still not flirting?” 

Anna doesn’t even flinch or falter as she slides in across from them. “I told my parents I’m not going to Brown and it felt _awesome_! My family might disown me by tonight, but I’ve never felt better in my life.”

“If that happens, you’re free to crash at my place,” Francesca says. 

“Really?” 

“I live in a mansion with my father and his flavor of the week,” Francesca says matter-of-factly. Kyle squeezes her knee beneath the table. “He barely notices when I’m there so I doubt he’d realize you’re there.” 

“Thank you, Francesca.” 

Kyle smiles seeing the two of them getting alone. Finally. “Well, the guys at Brown are going to be disappointed.”

“Hell, the girls at Brown are going to be disappointed,” Anna says brightly. 

Francesca laughs, definitely more amused than malicious. “Definitely flirting.” 

Desmond and Roy arrive before the waitress can come around to take their order. The diner is a lot more lively and crowded on a Saturday morning. Roy is dressed in clothes much too big for him, even more so than the baggy garb he usually wears, with shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sweatpants sagging more than halfway down his ass. Anna stands so they can slide further into the u-shaped booth since she isn’t planning to stay long. 

“Aw, it’s so cute when couples wear each other’s clothes,” Francesca says. 

“You’re one to talk, Red,” Desmond shoots back. “That’s a familiar shade of lipstick you’ve got on there, Jamison.” 

Kyle wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, but Francesca grabs his wrist and playfully whines, “Leave it. I like marking my territory.” 

“Gross.” Matty’s the last to arrive and slides into the booth, knocking shoulders with Kyle and forcing him and Francesca to scoot over and make room for him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of _those_ couples.” 

Kyle doesn’t even care about the teasing, he’ll take whatever they throw at him. “Hey, Matty, I’m sorry for everything. I fucked up. I’m a shitty friend and I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Oh, and I’m going to hold you to it until we’re old and gray with wrinkly ball sacks,” Matty says. A couple at the table over pause mid-meal to glare at him. Roy waves at them. “But we all lived to tell the tale. How’s Larry?”

“Surprisingly upbeat,” Kyle replies. “He thinks a DUI and property damage charge can only help his future as the villain on one of MTV’s reality game shows.” 

“Oh to be a white male reality star in America,” Roy sings. 

Matty steals the menu right out of Kyle’s hands. “I, uh, I talked to Sandy this morning. We broke up and I’m not going to Maryland and I think I’m okay with that. I already took that stupid test twice. I’m not doing it again. Fuck it.” 

“Are you sure?” Kyle asks. 

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure about anything in my life.” Matty does seem at peace, content with himself in the very least, for the first time maybe in his entire life. 

Nodding, Kyle pushes slips of paper with the answers on them toward Desmond who’s directly across from him, but Desmond takes his hands off the table. 

“Nah,” Desmond says, “I already know I can ace the math. After my mom ripped me a new one for leaving Key at the party, I can’t risk fucking with fate any more than I already have. You don’t know my mom, man. Besides, I learned a lot of new vocabulary from Davenport Lies School.”

“You’re welcome,” Francesca says. 

“If DLS turns into some cheesy dating advice site, I’m gonna hurl,” Roy says. “No, now we go full Gossip Girl! The Ghost and the Reporter, Davenport High’s worst nightmare! Be afraid!” Roy taps his fingertips together maniacally. “Be very afraid!”

“Okay, Ghost.” Kyle pushes a slip of answers toward Roy who couldn’t be happier that his nickname has caught on.

Roy pushes the answer sheets right back. “Shit, man, you don’t know Des’ mom.” 

Kyle turns to the redhead next to him. “Francesca?”

“No thanks.” 

Kyle takes in all of the faces around him with utmost exasperation. “Alright, guys, what is this? What’s going on?” 

“I wasn’t in it for the answers,” Francesca says. “Besides, I got a 1460 last time I took it.” 

“So you really were that confident?” Kyle asks. “This whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Francesca taps the tip of his nose. “You didn’t ask.”

Anna laughs. “So at Wine Tasting Tuesday, when you said you were in it to, and I quote, “make friends,” you were serious? You weren’t just being a bitch?”

“Oh, I was definitely being a bitch,” Francesca says. 

“No shame, Lane!” Roy shouts from across the table. “I was only in to save my own skin, but this was kinda fun!” Roy wraps an arm around Desmond and the other around Anna. “I hope you all realize ya stuck with me now!” 

Kyle turns to Anna. “Does this mean you’re out too?”

“Do I look like I need the answers?” she asks, bursting with confidence. 

“You look like you need a pimp.” Roy licks his lips and Anna swiftly smacks him upside the head and she does it with a smile.

“Maybe Desmond’s mom can mix you some respect women Kool-Aid,” Francesca says.

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” Roy says quietly, sincerely. 

“I’m not sure what’s next for me, but I’m so over planning,” Anna says. “I think I’d like to travel. I have money saved up and my sister’s super excited about bringing me on my first Eurotrip. France. Greece. Then college. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it because I want to. Tough luck for anyone else.” 

Kyle runs his hand down the front of his tired face. “So you’re telling me that after we did all of this, no one is going to use these answers?” 

“You are, aren’t you?” Matty asks. 

Kyle stares down at the six slips of paper and sighs heavily. “No.”

“What about Cornell?” Matty asks. “That’s still the dream, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, but…” Kyle glances at Francesca. “It wouldn’t hurt to consider alternatives. I’ll figure out a way to make it without being the guy who cheats his way into college. Larry didn’t risk his ass for that guy. I don’t want to be that guy.” 

Matty laughs, and laughs, and laughs. “Fuck. I mean, fuck! So all of this was for fuck all nothing?” 

“I wouldn’t call it nothing,” Roy says. “We’re one big happy family now! Ooh! We should all get matching tattoos!”

“Yes!” Anna shouts just as Desmond groans, “That’s not gonna fly with my mom.” 

“Des, come on!” Anna leans over Roy to shake Desmond’s arm. Roy joins in and helps her shake Desmond’s arm. “Just get it somewhere your basketball jersey will cover.” 

“Desmond Rhodes Tramp Stamp Superstar,” Matty chuckles.

“Not a bad headline,” Anna says. “Francesca gets the breaking news exclusive and I’ll provide the photos.” 

Desmond groans into his hands. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.” 

“I’m in, but only if Kyle does the design.” Francesca pushes a paper placemat toward him and pulls a pen out of her bag. “I trust you.”

“I don’t,” Desmond says. 

“We need to memorialize last night somehow,” Anna argues. 

Grinning like a fucking fool, Kyle starts doodling on the placemat with Francesca tucked into his side, half-asleep on his shoulder. Roy orders three different kinds of milkshake and dips his pancakes into them. Anna reminds Matty to at least take a nap before the show later tonight before excusing herself so she can get back to Gina, but not before Desmond gives her an eyebrow raise. Roy’s eyebrows do the worm with only the dirtiest assumptions.

“Ann Ross, on her way to steal yo girl!” Roy cheers. 

“What is wrong with you?” Anna laughs this time, blushing, but embracing it. Still, she’d definitely push him into another shrub if she had the option. 

With the boys busy teasing Anna, Francesca leans towards Kyle’s ear and asks, “So was it worth it?” 

Kyle presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas if you celebrate and Happy Holidays! All that's left is the epilogue. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


	21. Epilogue

Back in high school, Francesca was the only reason Kyle would even think to make the drive into New York City. Even after graduating, she still is. 

Francesca lives in a beautiful pre-war gothic highrise at the corner of 10th and Broadway. The first time he visited her, Kyle spent so much time marveling at the outside that Francesca had to literally drag him away. She says all of the Tisch first year students get placed in this one residence hall so it doesn’t surprise him when he nearly bumps into a dude playing electric guitar in the stairwell and gets a few strange looks from a group of girls singing harmony in the hallway. Probably because of the bright Syracuse orange hoodie he’s wearing. 

After doing better on the SAT, not quite a 1430, but better than his last score, Kyle decided to consider alternatives. Planning the heist of the century and trying to think of every conceivable way it could go wrong might have shown him the value of having a fallback school or two. It worked out for the best. He loves Syracuse even if his school is more than four hours away from his favorite person. 

Lucky for him, the door to Francesca’s room is wide open because he could not open it on his own when his hands are occupied with enough takeout to feed an army of hungry college freshmen. 

“Kyle, you are an orange prince!” Lynette, a friend of Francesca’s and a particularly talented singer and musician, meets him at the door. “Yo, food’s here!” 

Girls, most with their makeup and hair half-done, flood into the hallway and surround him. Kyle stands with his back against the wall as they all talk over each other and try to sort out who ordered what. At least they’re polite, muttering sweet “thank you”s as they take their food and return to where they came from. 

“Fuck yes, BEC pierogis!” Alice cheers. 

“I was told to expect a horrific death if I forgot a single pierogi,” Kyle says. 

“Such a good boy.” Blair winks at him. “Are you sure you can’t come out with us tonight, Kyle? It’ll be fun. Your first warehouse rave.” 

Frankie snorts with a pierogi hanging halfway out of her mouth. “I appreciate you, gopher, seriously, love you long time, but please save us all from having to witness your arsenal of white boy moves.” 

“Already have plans tonight, but have fun and stay safe.” Kyle walks into Francesca’s room to a chorus of sweet, flirtatious goodbyes, something they do mostly to annoy his girlfriend. 

Speaking of Francesca, she has a roommate who she often complains about, but at least she doesn’t have to share a bathroom and showers with an entire floor like he does. You could literally divide the room into two and all of Francesca’s things are flush to one side and Enid’s to the other. Judging by the weird art, band posters and scattered clothing, they have similar taste and interests, but would rip you to shreds for mentioning it. He did once. Never again.

Enid is sprawled atop her bed with square-framed eyeglasses sitting crooked on her nose that’s buried between the pages of a graphic novel. She has another book open atop her extremely symmetrical shoulder-length hair that’s dyed sea foam green. It’s as if she’s trying to physically absorb the information without actually having to read it. 

“Matzoh ball soup for you.” Kyle hands Enid a takeout container and set of utensils. 

“I didn’t order anything.” Enid accepts the container anyway. 

“Still, I was out. I figured I might as well get you something.” 

“He’s too good for you, Jersey!” Enid shouts out across the room. 

“Fuck you too!” Francesca calls back. 

Kyle crosses the room to where Francesca’s at her desk, eyes glued to her laptop like always. The grin on his face only gets stupider when he sees the framed photos on her dresser courtesy of Anna. One is of their entire SAT group outside of their favorite diner in their graduation gowns. The popsicle stick sword he made her is stuck to the frame of their prom photo. Francesca looked beautiful in her lacy black dress with studded heels and Kyle wore a classic tuxedo. It’s the same photo his mom has framed and displayed in their living room back home. 

“Hey, beautiful.” Kyle sweeps Francesca’s hair to one side so he can press a kiss to the tattoo on the back of her neck. He has the same one on his upper left arm. Francesca hums, threading her fingers through the short hairs at the nap of his neck. “Thank you for coming to my rescue when I almost got mauled out in the hallway.” 

“You survived just fine,” she says. 

“Barely.” 

Francesca tilts her head back in a way that he knows means she wants to be kissed and who is he to deny her? He kisses her sweetly and once he pulls away, her eyes are still closed, those lips he loves gently pursed. She tugs on his hair and says, “Again.” He kisses her again. In quiet moments like this, he can’t imagine getting tired of this, of her, of loving her. 

“I think Blair and Frankie are _this close_ to asking me to be the third in their threesome,” Kyle says, “and I’m terrified.”

“You should be.” Francesca takes a sip of her black cherry cream soda and gnaws on the straw. “So, Kathleen Kelly requested the full manuscript of my novel. They only take a super small percentage of fiction submissions so less than zero guarantee, but she wants to see how the novel progresses. Kathleen fucking Kelly! It’s surreal. Bizarre, really.” 

Kyle wraps his arms around her and lifts her right out of her chair in his excitement. How she balances school, a social life and writing and shopping a fucking novel, he’ll never understand. She’s just incredible like that. 

The bulk of her book was written and rewritten over last summer at odd hours of the early morning at their favorite twenty-four hour food places. Kyle would sit across from her, sketching buildings, cars and interesting faces that caught his eye from the window. Now, he’s happy to be a part of her life and have a front row seat to her success. 

“Have you told my mom yet? You told her first, didn’t you?” He asks. Francesca nods with a tinge of guilt, but he just hugs her tighter. “She’ll probably bake you a cake.”

“She said to remind you she’s expecting us for dinner some time before you go back.” 

“Right. And you’re still driving up to ‘Cuse for spring break, right?” 

“Please do!” Enid yells from across the room. 

“Why are you listening to our conversation?” Francesca snaps. “Why don’t you go bother your forty-year-old booty call instead of bothering me and my boyfriend?” 

“For the record, I’m not leaving because you told me to.” Enid throws the strap of her bag over one shoulder. “I was leaving anyway. If you have sex on my side of the room, I’ll know and I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“I’d like to see you try, bitch,” Francesca shoots back. 

“Matrix-loving, bottle redhead slut.”

“Shut the fuck up! Your hair is green!”

“Bye, Enid,” Kyle says, waving. 

“Bye, Kyle. Thanks for the food.” Enid’s voice softens significantly, punctuated by the violent slam of the door. 

“We’re definitely having sex on her side of the room,” Francesca says very seriously. She tugs on the drawstrings of his hoodie and laughs. “Is this what you’re wearing to Desmond’s game?”

He’s playing against my school,” Kyle says. “Love the guy, but let my allegiance be known.”

“We have time before we have to leave for the game, right?” She hooks her fingers into the pocket of his hoodie and drags him toward her bed. 

“Food’s going to get cold.” Kyle goes willingly, happy to go wherever she wants him. 

“Hmm, kinda hungry for something else.”

***

It’s impossible to use the subway system in New York City without seeing advertisement for Roy’s multi-million dollar video game company. His company logo, a hyper-stylized version of the Korean character for “Ghost” can be seen everywhere in a more official capacity now. 

Roy got the highest SAT score in the county, but that wasn’t enough to make up for his 0.0 grade point average and the fact that none of his teachers would even agree to write him a half-decent recommendation letter. Desmond’s mom convinced him to get his GED and made him sit at their dining room table right next to Keyon as he did the practice tests. The rest is history.

The video game Roy created as a side project just for fun finds unexpected funding and support from the up-and-coming Delos Incorporated and sold millions of copies basically overnight. Roy, Davenport’s resident stoner, voted Mostly Likely to Try To Smoke His Diploma (If He Got One) on Davenport ~~High~~ Lie School’s superlatives becomes a millionaire overnight. Desmond could get them free tickets for the game, but Roy got them the best private, luxury box Madison Square Garden has to offer. 

“Happy New Year!” Kyle, wearing a nice blazer over his loud orange hoodie, walks into the luxury suite, his fingers linked with Francesca’s. She makes a beeline for the bar, the only way she’s getting through four quarters of a sporting event she doesn’t care about aside from Desmond’s success, of course.

Matty and Anna lean against the railing at the far end of the suite looking out at the rest of the stadium and the basketball court where the Knicks play. Anna’s blonde hair is just as thick and wavy as it had been in high school, but shorter, shoulder-length. She has her camera ready as always. Matty’s trimmer than he was in high school and his hair is much shorter, neater, no longer flopping across his forehead. 

“Hey!” Anna gives Kyle a quick hug. “Wow, I wasn’t aware you were capable of growing facial hair.” 

Matty nearly doubles over laughing, that asshole, and Kyle strokes his scruffy jaw that’s not quite a beard, but on its way. 

“I like it,” Francesca says. “Mine’s the only opinion that matters.” 

“So you two are still a thing then?” Matty asks, the question more aimed at Francesca than Kyle. “I distinctly remember you saying something about how if you were a freshman in college your last priority would be the boy you dated in high school. What happened to that?” 

“Wow, you remember that word-for-word, huh?” Francesca asks. “It’s haunted you all this time?” 

Matty tips his beer bottle to her and Francesca flips him off in return. 

“Quit being a jerk, jerk.” Kyle shoves Matty, then clasps hands with him. “Hey, you know, you look so familiar to me. Did I see you in the background of an episode of Law and Order? Aren’t you waiter number three?” 

“Shut up.” Matty shoulders into him. 

Once they graduated, Matty got a summer job at a Jewish summer camp which pleased his mom immensely. He mostly took charge of the camp-wide musical and got a small taste of what Anna had to deal with as stage manager. He met a girl, Daphne Kluger, who’s heavily involved with the Atlantic Theater Company. And yeah, they hooked up, but he hasn’t plastered any walls with photos of her. He left that shit in high school. 

“Matty, tell them what you were just telling me,” Anna says. 

“I got the lead in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” 

“Alright!” Kyle claps and Anna happily joins in. “When is it? We are there.” 

“Thanks,” Matty says bashfully. “But I wouldn’t be offended if you left Francesca home.”

“Matty!” Anna leans over and smacks him on the arm. 

“I still have third degree burns from her review of Othello!” Matty shouts. 

“Can’t take the criticism, get off the stage.” Francesca hands Kyle a beer. “So, the Prodigal Class Brain has finally returned from Europe. Are you home for good?” 

“That’s the plan…for now.” 

Anna had run off to Europe almost as soon as she picked up her diploma. It started out as a fun adventure with her sister to experience the world outside of monotonous high school life. By chance, they ran into an acquaintance of her sister’s, Therese Belivet, a professional photographer and former photo editor for _The New York Times_. After seeing Anna’s work, Therese agreed to mentor Anna. Her parents almost fainted when she told them of her decision to put college off for at least another year. When they threatened to kick her out, her sister offered her a place to stay. Anna hopes her parents will come around and if not, that’s a shame. 

“How was New Year’s Eve in Chicago?” Francesca asks. 

Anna blushes and lifts her shoulders up to her red ears. “Great. The Art Institute of Chicago is incredible.”

“Where did you stay when you were there again?” Francesca tries to act casual and innocent. 

Anna huffs. “You know exactly where I stayed while I was there.” 

“Uh, I don’t,” Matty says confusedly. “Where’d you stay?” 

The corner of Francesca’s lips quirk. “How’s Gina?”

“Good. Busy.” Anna blushes even harder. “Still as talented and amazing as ever.” 

“Did you do a sexy party for two photoshoot while you were there?” Francesca asks. Matty chokes on a hot dog, eyes wide, but more interested in the answer to that question than possible death. 

“Okay, Chess, you quit that to.” Kyle wraps an arm around Francesca’s waist, moving her in front of him so she can lean back against his chest. “So, where’s Roy?” 

“He wasn’t here when we first got here,” Anna says, “but he left a mysterious note saying everything is paid for so enjoy and he’ll be here in a bit.” 

“He gets off on the mysterious benefactor shtick,” Matty explains. “The last time I met up with him to watch Desmond play, Roy took me to some super swanky nightclub after and the next morning I woke up half-naked on pool float at a Holiday Inn in Hoboken.” 

“Have either of you been to his mansion yet?” Francesca asks. 

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Matty says. “He let me crash at his place for a while. He’s got professional gaming setups in every room, a four foot tall solid gold Pikachu at the front door and models hanging around all the time. Is that where we’re taking the afterparty?” 

“I guess we’ll find out once Roy shows up.” 

The four old friends settle into their luxury suite and wait for the game to start, laughing about how ridiculous it is that they’re here right now, that things turned out the way they did and Roy of all people is funding their reunion. Francesca looks through Anna’s photos from Europe (“Okay, now where are the photos of all the hot European men and women you seduced into your bed?”) while Kyle cheers for his men in orange and Matty roots against them. 

“Playing in Madison Square Garden, how has Desmond not shit himself yet?” Matty muses. 

“Uh, because he’s a professional and not gross,” Anna says proudly. “And he’s been working on his jump shot.” 

Just as she says it, Desmond sells the drive, steps back and shoots the ball. It swishes through the net to the delight of the crowd and Kyle’s displeasure. Desmond knows how big this moment is, a dream come true, and he’s making the most of every minute he spends on the court. He jumps and swats the ball out of the air and right to his teammate, initiating the fast break. Desmond gets the ball back on the opposite end of the court and slams it through the hoop with both hands. 

The adjustment from high school to college wasn’t as needlessly stressful as Desmond feared. His schedule is much more flexible and the basketball program at St. John’s is certainly more competitive than it ever was at Davenport High. He’s learning the fundamentals and schemes he’ll need to play professional basketball when in high school the coach would just say “give the ball to Rhodes” instead of calling an actual play. All of his teammates and opponents were the best on their high school squad and the challenge of playing with and against them has renewed his passion and competitive drive. 

(Yes, he has admitted to his mom that college is okay and she is rightfully smug.) 

Desmond hasn’t officially declared a major yet, but he’s leaning towards business so that he can better manage his brand when he enters the NBA (and he will) and if his mom ever decides to fully jump into the catering business, open a restaurant, he wants to be able to support her both with his bank account and ability to crunch numbers. 

At the end of four quarters, St. John’s wins, beating Syracuse 79 to 65. 

“Hey! There he is!” Anna runs straight into Desmond’s arms the moment he steps through the doors of the fancy suite. She sent him a postcard from every new city she visited overseas and stopped into internet cafes every few days to exchange emails. Desmond picked her up from the airport when Anna first got home and she had dinner with him and his family. 

(Keyon’s crush on Anna is still going as strong as ever.) 

“Wow, superstar, you actually have a jump shot now,” Matty teases. 

“You know it,” Desmond says. 

“Good game,” Kyle says reluctantly. “But, hey, you know things would’ve been different if Melo hadn’t already accomplished everything he set out to do and declared for the draft.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, orangeman.” Desmond playfully shoulders into Kyle on his way to hugging Francesca. “So, does Lynette ask about me or what? When are you gonna hook a brother up?” 

“She’s playing a show at some dive bar later tonight if you’re down,” Francesca says. 

“I’m so down,” Desmond says. 

“Me too!” Anna agrees. “Should we try to find Roy before we go?”

“Where is he?” Matty asks. “He’s been MIA all night.” 

As if on cue, the doors of the suite fly open with a dramatic bang! Roy walks in wearing a metallic gold suit and a yellow Pikachu beanie over his dark, unkempt hair, a look of panic on his face. 

“Roy!” Anna shouts. “What’s wrong?”

“You look like you’ve seen a _ghost_ ,” Francesca says. 

“I fucked up!” Roy walks over to the bar and grabs a random bottle, taking a swig. “I’ve been working on a new personal project. A game-changer for the artificial intelligence entertainment industry! And all my work, my prototypes ibetitallawayonahandofpoker!” He takes a lengthy, frantic swig straight from the random bottle. “Yeee! That was a mistake.”

Everyone just stares dumbly at Roy. 

“What?” Kyle asks. 

Roy takes a heaving breath and sighs it out. “All my hard work, my Venus de Milo, but with arms that can crush skulls and hearts, I bet it all away on a single hand of poker.” 

“Sucks for you,” Matty says, squeezing mustard onto yet another hot dog. 

“Do we wanna know who you lost it to?” Desmond asks. Matty mumbles incoherently, with his mouth full, still wondering why any of them bother to question the things Roy does. 

“Uh, just this tech bro named Wilford.”

Francesca laughs. “Wilford as in Wilford Industries Wilford?” 

Kyle makes a face. “The luxury smart train guy?” 

“Bingo,” Roy says. “What he doesn’t know is I LoJack all my shit. I tracked it to his penthouse suite in the hotel he owns in Vegas. Surprisingly minimal security. So I was thinking…it couldn’t hurt to bring the SAT group back together, right? What do you say, guys? One more heist!” 

“Fuck no,” Matty answers, wagging his third hot dog of the night. “We’re never going to do that shit again, right? Right?” When no one else answers right away, too busy exchanging glances, head shakes, smirks, it dawns on Matty and he groans with his head tilted to the ceiling. “Fuck. Here we go again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, friends! My take on The Perfect Score. I started writing this as a joke on Tumblr, to keep my brain occupied through this year and to satisfy 11-year-old me screaming at the screen that Kyle and Francesca should have ended up together. For all of you who stuck with this story, thank you and I hope you enjoyed it. I don't plan to write more, but who knows what might happen in the future, right...? 
> 
> [ Tumblr](https://beezyland.tumblr.com/)


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